


Marbled Rose

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Hermione Granger, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, F/M, M/M, Multi, Viktor is a Vampyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:15:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 84,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9938102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: In the muggle world, she wanted to be the most brilliant ice skater in the world. In the wizarding world, she wanted to be the best student. The truth is somewhere in between topped with not wanting to lost Harry to a fate he doesn't fully understand and learning the half-worlds of the wizarding world.She will be tested. She will be broken... but perhaps with a little luck and a strength that she doesn't fully understand--she'll come back stronger.This is the prequel to the Brightest Witch of Her Age Series as well as Gone Before It Happens.





	1. Triple-Triple Combination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds strength in the muggle world in order to live in the wizarding one.
> 
> Instead of living, she thrives.

Hermione... struggled. As hard as it was to do, she could admit that. Between adjusting to the culture of the wizarding world, where she stood in it, the social climate of Hogwarts, and generally being only twelve years old-- she was still struggling, but she’d been a girl of her word. She’d promised her parents that she’d take the top academic spot. She promised her grandmother that she’d be strong and she promised her coach that she wouldn’t fall behind on her training.

She was the top of the first year class. She’d been as strong as she could be at twelve years old. And she’d done as much as she could without a rink, but now that it was October, she couldn’t afford to take a longer break from the ice. In the hope to comfort herself, to ease the doubt of being so far away from home without any standing in the world she’d entered, she’d brought that tether with her in the form of her Sony Walkman, headphones and her ice skates.  She’d hoped that, this far north, the water would have frozen over thick enough to skate on, but the Black Lake seemed to be resistant to the cold and remained liquid.

She blamed it on the magical creatures who lived in the lake.

It had made her sick to think that she wouldn’t be ready to compete when she went home so she went to the library and scoured the books until she found the spell she needed. She’d filled up the time in between her sadness and classes, with her training, to practice the spell on smaller things at first, but she was out of time to try it on something larger. She’d given a thought to try and find the Room of Requirement, but apparently her need wasn’t great enough when she’d gone looking for it.

Today, had been the kind of difficult that made her mind full of doubts, made her hands tremble to send that letter she’d written within her first weeks of term begging her parents to withdraw her from school.  She’d never sent it because she’d promised her grandmother to be strong. She’d promised herself that she would prove them all wrong. She was stronger than a bunch of children. She didn’t need them to be her friends if all they could do was insult her or stand by and let others do so.

The only saving grace had been the upperclass Ravenclaw, a muggle born witch, who’d stood up for her against a group of Slytherins. Sure, Hermione had had the spellwork down, but words cut deeper than juvenile hexes. She’d smiled at her, pat her shoulder and told her _head up_. She was a Prefect, happy to deduct points from them and escort her to class.

She’d been the only reason before the troll incident that she hadn’t sent the letter.

 _Head up,_ she thought. _Be brave. Mia._

_Know-It-All…_

_Mudblood…_

_Mental…_

_Plain…_

_Weird…_

_Bucktoothed..._

The upperclassmen twins, the older siblings of Ron, had taken it upon themselves to, once again, send their latest prank her way leading to laughter throughout the Great Hall at her expense during lunch. As most of the table laughed, she’d made it a point to stand, whip her wand to clean the mess from her robes, grab her things and leave, her back straight, her jaw clenched and silent. She’d gone through her classes the rest of the day, sinking into the silence of the room in silent protest.

Where were the bloody professors when her entire house seemed to turn against her? Where were any of these idiots who needed her to say something so they could look like they’d done the reading when her breakfast had exploded in her face?

There, laughing right along with them.

Professor Flitwick eyed her in confusion as he instructed everyone. The classroom silent whenever he asked them a question about the reading. She felt eyes on her waiting for her usual show of enthusiasm to thrust her hand up and answer the question, to move the class along. She clenched her jaw and her hand, fuming silently.

“Miss Granger?”

She looked at him and apparently, something on her face told him not to call on her for the rest of class leaving him to call on any and everyone else. It had been like pulling teeth, so much so, that he’d hesitantly explained the charm they would be working on. A charm to control water. She’d watched him. Having already read the entire book, she waited until everyone had more or less done poorly to do anything other than looking at the glass of water in front of her.

“Miss Granger?” He asked seeing her looking at her glass of water. “Is there something wrong?”

“Looks like the mudblood’s run out of tricks,” she heard from behind her, a row of Slytherin snickering.

She pulled her wand out of her robe, performed the movements, said the words and watched the water in the glass leap out and morph into a miniature dragon on her desk. It roared a bit, stretching its wings and had such definition, there wasn’t anything to be said about her technique.

Professor Flitwick’s eyes widened, the entire class went silent as she flicked her wand and sent the water dragon flying around the classroom in graceful arcs. She transformed it into a miniature woman, skating through the air in graceful whirls before landing on the rim of her cup, leaping into a triple lutz before dissolving back into harmless water just before the bell rang. She stood and exited the room before anyone had even managed to move. The last class of her day was Potions. She walked in and took her usual seat on the bench.

It was probably the first day that Severus had deducted so many points from Gryffindor, giving her a look that was at once challenging and dismissive when she did nothing to help anyone, as she normally would have, but continued to work on her potion.

“ _Hermione_ ,” someone hissed at her. Seamus, maybe or someone else. “ _Hermione!”_

She ignored the hissing and stirred her potion, three times to the left, four to the right and watched it turn darker than black as a cauldron exploded behind her, thick goo splattering on the back of her robes.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for the inability to follow directions.”

Hermione didn’t listen, didn’t even bother to clean the goo off her back and out of the wild mane of hair she possessed since the potion’s ingredients could not be combined to do anything damaging. It was just sticky and a little uncomfortable, but she didn’t feel it really.

By her tally, Severus had taken over three hundred points from Gryffindor by the end of the class and she’d brewed the perfectly opaque, black potion, turned in her essay from the day before and left without so much as a word spoken.

“What’s gotten into you?” Someone asked, catching up with her. “You didn’t even help--”

Hermione stopped and looked at the face talking to her. Some faceless Gryffindor, one of the many that always stood by while someone laughed at her expense. Maybe she was someone she knew the name of, maybe not, but it didn’t matter. Whoever they were had some nerve coming up to question her about her choice to not help anyone when no one seemed to ever be willing to help her.

“What were you doing when Fred and George saw fit to make a laughing stock out of me?”

She blinked, “It was just--”

“A joke?” Hermione asked, meeting the girl’s eyes. She looked away hastily and Hermione scoffed before marching on.

She walked on straight back to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring anyone who was calling her name or trying to get her attention.

“Hermione, could you--”

“No,” she answered without hearing whatever it was the Seamus wanted to ask as she walked up the stairs towards the girl’s dorms. She arrived in her room and proceeded to strip. Dinner wasn’t for another few hours, but she doubted that she would go.  She changed into tights, shorts and a long sleeve shirt, put on her tennis shoes and grabbed her training bag.  She pulled her sticky cloak back on over her clothes and tied her hair up into a massive, curly bun before heading back down the stairs, past the filling common room, down the stairs, the corridor, and beyond to the courtyard.

After a few minutes, she arrived at the portion of the Black Lake she’d selected to use for training. It went inland enough to form a shallow cove, just large enough to be an ice rink if the water froze, but it hadn’t. She was going to attempt to change that tonight with a spell she’d worked out.  Before that, she set her bag down and pulled off her robe and went through her on-land warm-ups. Suicides on the lake bank, push-ups, familiar stretches and simple form practice before she turned, almost breathless, to attempt this spell she’d created.   
She’d read most of the transfiguration section in the library, most of the charms too, as well as spell-creation. She was sure that she had the words right, the only thing was her focus.

She needed this. She needed this to go right for some part of her that doubted her place in the wizarding world. She needed this to go right so she could keep her muggle promises too.

She just… needed it to go right.

Hermione closed her eyes, lifted her wand and imagined the rink back home with a low cobbled stone wall and freshly paved ice. She held it steady in her mind, filling every detail with every stroke of her wand, every word she spoke in a language that was more ancient than any language she could speak.

When she felt the spell was done, she opened her eyes and felt the breath of anxiety escape into the air as an incredulous laugh. It was exactly as she’d imagined it down to the pattern of the cobblestone wall, the smoothness of the ice better than even the best rink back home.

With haste, she pulled off her sneakers and slid into her skates, tucking her  tights into them and lacing them tightly before stepping onto the ice. She’d left her wand out on the bank and kept her Walkman in the pocket of her jumper. She put on her headphones and skated, getting a feel of the size of the rink as she fast forwarded through her skating tracks to find the one she wanted. She felt it as a slow pulse and smiled at the sound before stopping in the center of the ice.

The letter from her coach told her that she needed to be able to do three things: a triple lutz, a triple toe, and the combination before she got back. After that she would have enough time to learn the triple axel, but as usual Hermione was ambitious. She didn’t want to have to learn when she got back, but to perfect. She took deep breaths listening to the pop track, imagining the movements, letting her muscles relax, before she skated.

She took her time gliding across the ice, warming up to skating, going over the tricks she knew already. She knew the physics of them all, but now she had to teach her body the jumps.

Her wizarding had made the practice possible, now she needed her muggle side to make it worth it. She emptied her mind of physics and let herself leap into the lutz and spun out, crashing to the ground and rolling. She winced at the pain in her side before forcing herself to her feet again and readjusting her headphones. She breathed, going over the moment as she spun, the momentum of her skating making her blade glide over the ice in place before coming out of it smoothly and gliding. She bent her leg now, half turning and prepping for the leap. She lost control of the landing again and rolled. The song changed as she got back on her feet and went back to skating.  She needed the spin to be tighter, but something about her take-off had felt wrong as well. Her landing leg was perhaps too weak, perhaps she just hadn’t been paying attention.

The slinky feeling of the track made her smile. It was one of many songs that she, her mother, and her grandmother would sing into spatulas early on Saturday mornings before she’d gone to Hogwarts. Loud enough to wake her father and lead into another discussion about how she should take choir in school. Now she just found herself humming it alone as she sat reading by the lake alone.

_Whatever you want from me, I’m givin’ you everything. I’m your baby tonight…_

She tried the lutz again and fell. She hummed along with lyrics as she skated, shaking herself free of the fall. Maybe she was too young, maybe she wasn’t strong enough, but she doubted it. Her coach back home had never under-judged her talent, only Hermione had ever been so unfair to herself. Maybe she’d already just psyched herself out that she couldn’t do it because she didn’t seem to be able to be as strong as she’d thought she could be so far away from everything she’d ever known.

“I’m your baby tonight…” she sung skating along and shaking herself free of the doubt.

She was muggle-born. She may not have a full grasp of wizarding politics, but she knew people, she knew muggle. She knew herself on the ice. She’d stick this spin. She needed this to go right, this affirmation that her tether to her muggle heritage still held, that her tether to home, even this far away, wasn’t gone. She needed this to assure herself that she, Mia, Hermione, whoever she was hadn’t been beaten down so badly that she’d forgotten who she was entirely.

She’d stick this triple lutz, then the toe, the axel and the combinations. She’d do this damn it. She could do this, she nailed it on land, running into the spin and landing, mindful of form.

She spun out once, twice, thrice before she lay on her back panting with effort and frustration. From the faded light in the sky, she knew that dinner was starting soon. Knew she would need food, but she needed this more. She got up again, ignoring the pulsing bruises in her legs and thinking. She seemed to lose control of the speed of the spin when landing, the momentum--perhaps she shouldn’t fight it, shouldn’t just focus on sticking the landing, but on what to do next with the momentum… Perhaps her best bet, much like walking before crawling, she should attempt the combination before attempting them separately.

She stopped nodding her affirmation and restarting the song before gliding across the ice, gaining speed and coasting around the curve of the rink, turning, bending her leg and leapt, pulling in tight into the spin, throwing her leg and arm out as she came out of the spin letting her leg bend and dig to launch her into the toe loop. She heard herself laugh as she came out of the spin and launched again for the axel and sticking the landing, but tumbling onto the bank as her blade caught on the bank and her leg gave out. She fell hard with a yelp and a laugh.

Turning onto her side, getting up again to try it again, she found herself spinning, one blade to the ice, arms out, face towards the sky.

“I’m your baby tonight,” she sung. “Whatever… you want boy… I’m your baby tonight.”

She stopped, laughing and skating into another triple lutz, sticking the landing and leading into a toe loop before spinning out and sliding across the ice, shaking her head panting.  Her stomach growled as she got back onto her feet, skating to the bank to change into her school shoes, pull her cloak on and her bag before rushing up the hill to get back to the school.

She skidded to a stop at the top and extended her wand to undo her little ice rink and hurry up the grounds towards the courtyard and into the Great Hall, panting, happy. The Gryffindors looked up at her, glowering at her, but the song was still playing in her headphones and she ignored them. She didn’t even hear their questions, grabbing dinner  and still bopping her head to the music in her headphones.

“Granger!” Someone yelled and she spun gracefully out of the way of the hex letting it fly across the room as she walked out, her bag brushing on her leg she stepped in time with the song, jamming out on her way of the Great Hall, tugging her hair out of it bun and shaking it out, leaves still clinging to the curls. Her eyes closed, her wand out, deflecting hexes without a thought, sliding out of the way in time with the music in her ears as she walked down the hallway. Spinning in her distinct muggle way and not caring who had questions as she hummed her way up the stairs through several songs. The members of the portraits looked at her strangely, but she just told the Fat Lady the password and waltzed right into the common room, up the stairs and into the bathroom. When her roommates arrive, Lavender and Parvati, she can’t even care, climbing into bed. She turned off her cassette player and set it in the bottom of her charmed trunk along with her training bag. She set her uniform aside and sighed with Crookshanks in her lap.

“I can do this, Crook’,” she said. “Head up.”

He purred, batting at her before she drew her curtains and curled up to go to sleep.

The next day, she finds herself raising her hand again and her professors seem almost relieved for her to do so. She uses the time that’s meant for lunch to run or train outside before changing for classes. She’s sure to ignore any pleas for help. It goes that way until the day she’s set to leave home. She’s landed all three and the combinations though she isn’t sure about her technique and before she leaves she directed Harry and Ron to the restricted section of the library to answer the questions they had about the Philosopher's Stone.

“Happy Christmas,” she said and pulled her traveling suitcase along. There wasn’t much in it besides a few changes of clothes, her school books, whatever homework was due and her skates. The train ride is quiet, quiet enough that she can open her book on skating technique to occupy her mind, keeping her legs stretched in front of her comfortably. She bent forward, holding the stretch and reading with the book on her shins.

It’s her grandmother that she sees first and she can’t even be bothered about propriety before rushing into her namesake’s arms and squeezing tight.

“Welcome back, Mia,” she said, pressing a  kiss to her head.

“Hi Gran’,” she said softly. She smelled like shea butter and some exotic oil that she couldn’t place, a dash of bergamot too. She smelled like home.

“I’m supposed to take you straight home, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Hermione laughed, pulling her suitcase along. They don’t dally for more than a few hours, but it’s enough that Hermione feels eons better. When they get to her parent’s house, they’re happy to see her, embracing her tightly and telling her to go unpack. They let her get settled the first day back, but the next day she’s on the ice while her parents are at work. Her namesake sits on the rink’s side as they go through the session. The warm up is a little easier than Hermione prefers. When she glides into the lutz then the toe loop, she isn’t sure what to make of her coach’s expression. Whether it was good or not, she isn’t sure before the man nodded approvingly.

“I was a tad worried,” he said. “But I can see I underestimated you. We’ll move onto the axel.”

He’s surprised again when she managed to execute it. It isn’t perfect, but most of the battle is getting her to land it in the first place. They work for a week to fix some of her mechanics and just practice jumps, leading into combinations and how to make her lead up a little easier before he’s teaching her the choreography he’s worked out for her. It’s fast, fast enough that it will be challenging to get it all together, but they take it in pieces. He hasn’t let her hear the song yet, but it hardly matters if she can’t perform it. He gives her the program and a video for her to watch and study for the weeks they use to practice. The week before the competition he brings in the music, once he’s reasonably comfortable with her progress.

She recognized the song on the first bar and looked at him.

_From the moment I saw you, boy, I went out of my mind…_

“Your mother suggested it,” he explained. “Said it meant a lot to you.”

She smiled and nodded before taking the ice and his direction throughout the song. She fell twice, but she got up and continued just like they’d practiced. The leaps and jumps proving to be harder to match with the speed of the lyrics. It was half lyrical and half instrumental in nature, but he nodded at her.

“You’ll stick it,” he told her easily. “You just need to practice.”

Hermione nodded and took the ice again as he left.

“Just breathe Mia,” her grandmother told her as she stopped in the center of the ice. Even alone, she’d gotten tripped up during the second bridge. It was a rather complicated spin sequence he was trying to get out of her and though she could manage most of the spins alone, and leaps and hops had never been an issue, the order in which he’d worked out combined with the athletic demand of the routine even before the sequence was taxing. If she could do it, it would boost her artistic score greatly and perhaps catapult her standing in the ice-skating circuit of Oxford from wherever she stood to much higher up.

Angelo told her to relax, but seeing the panel of judges come in to watch her practice had her heart pounding. Even when she blocked them out and just focused on the ice, she fell and fell and fell again. Three times in, Angelo pulled her off the ice to talk to her. The judges prepared to leave and she feels that anxiety pressing on her insides as he coaxes her into breathing.

“Shh,” he said, taking her hands. “Just breathe with me, Hermione.”

“Coach, a word with you?”

Angelo nodded, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders before walking over. She didn’t hear them exactly, but she felt it in the way that they were speaking, the pity in their eyes. They were telling him that he was asking too much of her. That she couldn’t do it no matter how hard she tried. The consolation was that, whether she could land it or not and they had to change it, she had _the_ most complex and athletically demanding routine for the competition. Angelo came back to sit with her, to lead her through her stretches and some light skating to cool down before sending her home.

“Hey,” he said and she turned trying not to look as defeated as she felt. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

She nodded and walked out to the car with her grandmother. In the days, she practiced seeing little improvement in her ability to control the spin, to follow the rhythm, and she read most of the nights to try and figure out what she was missing. She tried something new every day, tweaking her form in places, tightening this muscle or that, but still, she failed, crashing to the cold hard floor with the music still playing. After the seemingly hundredth time she’d lost control of the spin, it felt like a cold hard defeat.

Angelo smiled, helping her up, “Alright, enough of this for now. Let’s skate.”

She swallowed, wanting to protest, the competition was in _three days_ , they didn’t have time for this, but he didn’t listen. He told her to relax and skate with him. They talked about how school was going, how being in boarding school was treating her. She told him it was fine and he told her that she was lying.

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.”

The night before, her mother gave her the costume and she laughed. It’s a perfect replication of the outfit: light-wash blue jean colored tights with the knees cut out. A black tank and a brown jacket that was fitted close to her body and her arms. Her back-up was a shimmering gold skating dress with a tan fur collar like a boa, long gloves and shimmering gold stockings to go over her just her skates. Both were borrowed looks from the music video.

“We had a bit of a debate about which looks, but we decided on these two. You like?”

She smiled and hugged her mother, carrying them upstairs. The next evening, she got dressed and headed back stairs where her coach could only offer her the condolence that she would be last in the line up. She watched the other performances wondering if it would be enough that her piece was complicated if she couldn’t perform it properly and they had done their, albeit simpler pieces, perfectly. … more importantly, why was she competing against skaters who were decidedly older than she was?

“You were bumped up,” he said. “Because of a bunch of rules, regulations, and ill-wishes towards me, but don’t worry, you’ll be just fine.”

She winced, “How bad will it be for you if I’m not?”

He smirked, “Don’t worry about it.”

 _Bad_ , is what she heard. It was bad enough that most people didn’t believe a man could teach women’s figure skating very well, so bad that Hermione was his only competing student. Bad enough that he probably had more riding on her performance than he let on. Bad enough that she hadn’t been able to land her sequences the way she should have. She looked at her bare knees the blue jean coloring of her artfully ripped tights. She took a breath.

 _Head up, Mia_ , she thought. She had to do this. She had to do it, not just for Angelo, but for herself. She’d been skating all of her life, if she couldn’t do this how was she supposed to take on the dangers and mysteries of a world she’d only just stepped into?

How was she going to do what needed to be done in the days ahead? Harry would get himself killed messing around with his last minute preparation and Ron…

Well, he’d get himself killed too.

She needed to know herself, muggle and witch, sure and unquestionable for the days ahead.

“Performing her piece to Whitney Houston’s _I’m Your Baby Tonight_ , Miss Hermione Granger, coached by Angelo Spencer. _”_

She took a breath and stepped onto the ice, doing her opening lap to smile out into the crowd and look to Angelo who smiled and nodded at her. She wanted to prove herself, wanted him to be proud of her, wanted to win this competition for herself and for him. Both of them up against people that didn’t think they could do what they said they would. Her opposition the wizarding world sneering that she couldn’t cross into their world. His the skating world that he couldn’t cross that gender boundary.

She had to prove them wrong.

She had to win and then graduate at the top of her class at Hogwarts.

She took a deep breath assuming the position and smiling prettily. She knew this song, she knew the routine, she just had to….

To trust that her body knew it too.

Angelo stood on the sidelines watching with a grin as the song began. She was magnificent, stepping into the character of the music as easily as she glided on the ice. As usual, her technique was perfect from the start and her movements, the spiral sequences were so very expressive. The way she stopped on a dime and changed direction as smoothly as any girl four years older than her age…

He still remembered the little girl who’d slipped and slid her first day on the ice, but always got back up when other kids gave up. She experimented. She was never afraid to fall and it showed now in how effortlessly she took to the rather challenging routine.

If nothing else, the judges would have to give her points for her technique and artistic execution. He held his breath at the first leap and smiling as she landed, her face a fierce smile as she glided, arms out, and curved into a spin, stopping hard to for the bit of stationary choreography and spinning into the first lutz and found that it wasn’t the lutz, but an axel instead. His heart skipped a beat as she landed it perfectly adding a bit more expression, a bit more choreography as she glided across the ice, into a triple lutz and a toe loop in quick succession.

 _Well bloody hell,_  he thought as his jaw dropped and he heard himself give out a whoop of excitement.

She damn sure hadn’t done that in practice after he’d changed the choreography. Whatever she was thinking of had made her revert to the original routine he’d shown her. When the first bridge came, the one with more complex stationary choreography, he tried not to be so surprised as she nailed it, adding an extended spin and an impressive stop by jumping out of it and digging in with the flat of her blades. The roll of her shoulders into the lyrics of the song. Her footwork was perfect leading into the second bridge that was primarily a sequence of spins that were fast enough and complex enough in order to match the speed of the bridge. She broke out of it with a swing of her leg into a crescent reminiscent of the music video for the song carrying her into a gliding arabesque spiral. He felt his hands grip the edge, his heart beating so fast he thought he would be sick or faint as she carried on into the last and most complicated part. He’d believed she could do it in practice, but she’d never managed to complete the full combination without losing control of the spin. It was hard, requiring a lot of power and stability to perform the spins for as long and as fast as she needed it to sustain it through several hops that should have stopped her dead in her spin. If that wasn’t hard enough, she had to time her position changes perfectly in order to regulate the speed of her spin sequence. He’d asked a lot of her when he’d shown it to her, but he’d had faith. He’d changed it to include fewer changes but kept the death jump into an axel since it would be such a point boost at the end of her performance.

She leapt, glided and leapt into a triple axel. He watched her, feeling that she’d taken the spin almost too fast. She would match the rhythm of the lyrics, but he knew from practice that she always lost control of the spin and fell. She got through the initial four spins easily enough, the hop, but she always lost control coming down.

She landed and he winced, his stomach clenched only to watch her lean back into a graceful arch above her head, hands holding the skate, still spinning, before letting her leg fall and boost the spin. She landed the first hop and his stomach clenched at the speed of her rotation into the second. Into the third and he held his breath at the third sequence. She’d gotten as far as the second in practice trials never through the third.

Into a sitting spin and back up into a Y, down and leaping out into a death jump, spiraling sharply into an open axel that looked more like she was flying before landing and following it with a solid triple toe loop and a salchow.

He felt his legs wobble and he held onto the railing as she glided by and spun into a quick stop. A hand up, looking up into the lights, frozen in the spotlight for a moment.

_I’m your baby tonight._

He can see the heave of her shoulders as he’s screaming, cheering for her. Her family cheered and so many other voices cheering as she curtsied and glided, waving into the crowd before getting to him. He didn’t even let her step off the ice before hugging her, squeezing her tightly, lifting her into a tight hug and spinning her around as she hugged him, careful of her blades.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Hermione.”

She panted, smiling, “Are… Was it okay?’

“Okay? Okay?! You crazy girl, it was amazing. Put this on before you catch your death.”

She laughed as he set her down. She walked to sit down and slid on her jacket, taking the bouquet of flowers he’d brought for her. She laughed, trying to catch her breath as the sound of the judges trying to make their final decisions came. Her eyes burning and her heart light. Whatever they had to say it didn’t matter, she’d done it.

She’d _nailed_  it.

“Will all skaters please return to the ice?”

Hermione swallowed, pulling off her jacket to file onto the ice behind the other girls as they did their perfunctory laps of greeting and stopped in a neat line. She glided around, the rink to join them facing the judges. Eleven girls in all, all of them older than her. The judges offered remarks on their artistic and athletic skills. She held her breath, shoulders back, head up, once they reached her.

It didn’t matter what they had to say. She’d done it.

“Hermione Granger, how old are you?”

She swallowed, “Twelve, sir.”

The leading judge nodded, “I would love to see what you can do in four years. When we came to see your practice, we were more convinced that your coach had pushed you too far. You should be proud that you proved us all wrong. Well done.”

She smiled, “I’m the only one that underestimates me.”

They smiled at her and gave out scores according to artistry, athletic skill, less any penalties they’d incurred. When her scores appeared on the board, her heart nearly stopped in her chest and she looked over to Angelo who looked as shocked as she was: tens across the board putting her at a 6.0 for ranking. They gave her the gold medal for the competition, taking pictures of her with the bouquet that she could only smile for. They go out to celebrate afterward with dinner, but it’s cut short by the fact that she had to get up to catch her train back to Hogwarts in the morning.

“Think you’ll be up for the Olympics?” He asked and she laughed. “Seven years from now? I’ll think about it.”

She doesn’t get to marvel at her gold medal for long, but the knowledge that it’s there… That she’d won it and would be heading back to Hogwarts for a completely different sort of medal made it worth it. She left it on her parent’s mantel. She didn't need it at Hogwarts.

 _No more crying, Mia,_ she said as she sat in the compartment alone. No more being defeated. She’d won. _She’d won._

So she’s afraid when the Devil’s Snare grabs them all, when she falls below the nest, when they play wizarding chess, when she drinks the potion--but she doesn’t let that bother her. She’s afraid when her Professors pull her into their offices, when Dumbledore pulls her in his office and they all offer her a chance to study harder, far more advanced things than her year. But none of that compares to the terror of Severus telling her, not so plainly, that he’s offering her a chance to make sure she doesn’t end up dead.

“Now that you and Mr. Potter’s futures are undeniably linked,” he said. “You will be in more danger than ever. Every waking moment, every sleeping breath…”

She swallowed regarding him.

“Should you chose not to take these lessons seriously, should you chose not to take them at all, I would suggest you become very adept at running for your life, Miss Granger. I can teach you to defend yourself and others, but only if you are willing.”

“Why?” She asked regarding him. “Why me?”

Severus gave her a flat look, “Of the three of you, you seem to be the least inept. If you can swallow your need to be an insufferable know-it-all that is.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she regarded the dark Professor, “I will give you my answer tomorrow.”

Severus’s lips almost twitched, “Seems that you are the smartest of the three.”

She left considering the words of her professors, the fact that they were all waiting for answers, Albus most of all, watching her over the edge of his glasses as she sat in the Great Hall.  She’s afraid when she gives her answers and begins her secret apprenticeships. Severus isn’t just tough, he’s almost brutal as he teaches her more advanced defenses against the dark arts, against ill-will in general, but at the least, she doesn’t cry herself to sleep, too tired to do so now. When she isn’t too tired to do so, it’s because she’s had training with a different professor.

It feels odd to not only have the Time Turner and keep her life a secret from her parents, but from Ron and Harry as well. She stills trains for figure skating, still goes home and competes, or at the very least brushes up on her technique, learning something new every time and every summer.  Before she goes to the Burrow to go with the Weasley’s to the World Cup, she almost laughs.

She’d thought her struggle would have been to keep a hold of her muggle roots in the wizarding world, that there were only two worlds to exist in, yet she’d created another one by accepting apprenticeships the year before. Sometimes, she wondered which was the real world, which persona was the real Hermione, a niggling voice at the back of her mind saying things that she didn’t fully understand. It usually went quiet when she was in the thick of danger, doing things that could get her killed, expelled at the least or on the ice.

After three years, she’d learned that perhaps she was a special brand of insane.

“Prepare yourself Miss Granger,” she heard the first day back at Hogwarts.

The year is 1994. She turned 15 (biologically) in eighteen days. Through the magic of the Time Turner she was closer to seventeen. Regardless of how she counted her time on Earth, she was too young to know that Severus didn’t mean to be kind.

“Sectasempra!” She raised her wand throwing up a shield against his onslaught, letting the slashes glance off and tear through the wall.

Defense was the strongest offense. She’d studied every warding and shielding charm this past summer that she could manage. Today’s goal, per his letter, was to land one solid hit against his person, no matter how long it took her to do so.

She waited, holding her shield against the magic he cast in front, back and on all sides so the attacks merely washed over her protective bubble. In the moment it took him to readjust his stance, she raised her wand.

“Expelliarmus!”

Blasts of light fired and he swiped them away as she focused and waited for the moment.

“Seems as though you’ve grown incompetent over the summer, Miss Granger--”

His voice cut off at the pin-pricking sensation of someone coming up behind him. He turned, his hand falling through the air, his wand pointing at nothing. There was a gust of cold through the room and he tensed, looking down at the now icy floor. He looked around, extending his senses and looking for her.

The sound of Lavender and the sight of a table, he fired an enchantment at the spot to find nothing, then again to his left, intrigued as he heard nothing, not even the movement of the wind, though he knew she was still in the room.

He turned again, trying to keep steady on the ice. Smart girl, exploiting his leg injury and changing the--

“Flipendo!”

He blocked it, firing back in the direction only to explode his table.

“Stupefy!”

To his left this time, but still nothing solid.  She must be sliding on the ice to be moving so fast around the room.

“Incarcerous!”

He watched the source of the ropes and sent them flying back, they caught on the cupboard. Another blast and another and yet he still hadn’t hit her. He looked down and watched the ice. Thick lines of blades digging into the ice, places where she’d used her pick to change directions. He watched them, fending off her blasts before aiming at the track in the ice where she would have to be.

“Accendio!”

He felt himself being launched across the room and groaned as he hit the wall, turning to see her standing, barefoot on the ice, her shoes skating without her in varied circles, silently.

She panted looking at him before letting out a breath as he stood and straightened, “Well, not entirely incompetent.”

Hermione’s lips twitched, but she didn’t lower her guard. She whipped her wand around, dissolving the ice into his well before disenchanting her shoes, putting them on, and grabbing her bag. She turned and waited for his actual dismissal to see a large stack of books on the table.

“You will read these for next time. Now get out of my sight.”

She nodded, lifting them and putting them in her bag until she couldn’t fit anymore and carrying the rest in her arms towards the library. It didn’t strike him as odd to see exactly how Slytherin she could be… but it did surprise him to find how far into her occlumency she had become perhaps without her knowledge. It seemed that he’d made the correct choice in taking Albus’s suggestion to take Hermione under his wing.


	2. When A Heart Can Be Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is strong... but he is still just a mortal man.

Cyrus came in to their room and  closed the door watching Viktor trash everything he owned, screaming in rage as he threw all of his things on the ground and overturned his crappy bed. He broke the framed picture and threw it in the trash bin before setting it on fire and screaming until his rage seemed to subside to a low simmering. It was only a moment of calm before he got up opening is cupboard to pull out his broom, the racing broom of the Vratsa Vultures, the one that had landed him a spot on the National Quidditch Team. He held it in his hand and turned to the door.

“Where are you going?” Cyrus asked levelly.

“To return this, I don’t want it. I’m quitting.”

Cyrus stopped him forcing him back, his wand pointed at Viktor’s chest, “You’re not going to do this.”

He glared at Cyrus, “Move out of my way.”

“Not until you calm down.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” he said, his Bulgarian rough with emotion. 

Cyrus swallowed at the glossy look of Viktor’s eyes knowing that he would be sobbing if he ever gave himself the chance to be honest with himself, but that was the problem… Viktor had been honest, painfully, brutally honest--too honest with her, under that potion. Far more honest than he’d even realized and he’d had it all thrown in his face as she’d been dragged from the courtroom. He was wounded a little too deeply to think clearly at the moment.

A lesser friend would have let him do it, but Cyrus knew Viktor. Knew him deeper than he was sure Viktor realized-- he’d regret doing this rashly as Viktor, by nature, was not a rash man. His level-headedness was part of the reason he was such a wonderful Seeker, part of the reason he was such a good friend.

Part of the reason that Cyrus loved him so much. 

“It does when you’re about to throw away your only reprieve from this hell hole.”

Viktor swallowed and shook, letting the broom fall to the ground before turning to sit down on the ground. Cyrus waved his wand, righting Viktor’s side of the room and unlocked the door so Petya, Aleksandr, and Antonio could come in. They locked the door and reset the silencing charm before sitting down on the floor with them.

“Talk.”

“Amortentia,” Viktor said softly and immediately their faces flushed with rage. 

Cyrus remained silent, having suspected a love potion as much from the first time Viktor refused to take her up on his broom. It had been a sickening feeling to think of it when Viktor came back to their dorm room, bruised around his neck and shoulders, smiling like a fool. He healed him and reported it to the staff, who reported it to Karkaroff who… did nothing. Love potions, from what he’d read of them, were complex to counteract without knowing what type of love potion it was. Hate potions only did so much for the psyche, there was also the physical effects to consider.

Finding out that it had been Amortentia had chilled his blood. It was a little-known fact about love potions that they had a shelf life at which point they became dangerous. Everyone knew that they grew stronger the longer they were kept, but what “stronger” implied had never been fully explored.  Cyrus suspected that given Viktor’s heritage that shelf-life had been shortened considerably making even a few drops of amortentia a few days old dangerous for him.  Love potions created false emotions, be witched the mind and body, but not the soul. Viktor was descended from vampyr. He was about a fourth if Cyrus was right, if not half, by blood, but the vampyr gene was much like the magic gene: either you were or you weren’t. Vampyr were related to vampires yet worlds apart in that they fed on psionic energy. Generally, it was not life-threatening, nor was it harmful in any way. From what he’d read, they were highly recommended for people who had terrible nightmares as they had the ability to siphon off the excess energy that led to certain kinds of imbalances. Wrapped up in that ability was a brand of magical empathy and their own psionic energies. From what he’d read, the abilities usually skipped generations, sometimes didn’t show up at all. Cyrus had known just watching Viktor and learning about his family’s history that he’d had the gift as latent as it may have been. 

Love potions messed with the psionic energies of the potion taker in ways that one could not even begin to be trace. In this case, it had nearly killed Viktor and Cyrus wasn’t sure if there was anything that would have stopped him from killing the witch if Viktor had died.

“ _ What? _ ”

Viktor didn’t repeat it, pulling his legs closer to him and feeling his heart sink, his head clear for the first time in months, yet so very loud full of the feeling that had always warned him before his father had gotten angry with him, before his mother had gotten angry, before Karkaroff struck… It felt like indignation, rage, and brotherly love now, but he couldn’t even be grateful for the feelings pouring off his closest comrades. His cheeks were hot as shame washed over him and memories flickered like sparks behind his eyelids. They were bright vivid things leaving impressions on his retinas that persisted long after they’d died out.

Her hands around his neck, the smell of her breath and her biting words, acrid at the back of his mouth. That feeling screaming at him that something was wrong. That he couldn’t feel anything. Her fingers on his skin, in him, as he whimpered in the darkness of a room and her hissing, biting words in his ear. 

_ You pathetic-- _

He nodded, shoving the memory back into the dark, trying to kill the sparks. The things he’d done, let her do to him all for this… title he never wanted.

It had been Karkaroff who’d wanted him to play Quidditch after seeing him fly before he’d even turned eleven for the Durmstrang Dragons. It had been his parents that made him do it. He’d done it simply as a way to avoid their wrath and disappointment. He’d done it to make his life easier and then he’d found that he liked it. It wasn’t comparable to reading, writing or any other of the activities he would usually take part in, but it gave him an excuse to spend hours at a time on a broom where he was most at peace, most free. That had seemed like enough to justify doing it and eventually it just became another thing he could do to take his mind of exactly how unhappy he was.

He’d met Cyrus the two years after and with him it felt like his circle of comrades had been complete. He’d been happy almost. At least until he was about to turn sixteen and talks about the World Cup had come up. Scouts had gone to every school in Bulgaria, to every minor league and major league team and ended up in Norway where Viktor went to school to scout the Bulgarian players for their team.

They’d seen Viktor on the broom and so began his position, with his parent’s permission, on the Vratsa Vultures as soon as he turned sixteen in 1992. It was a two-year starter contract. He hadn’t wanted it, he just wanted to play for Durmstrang and be done, but the niggling feeling that told him it would be worse to go against his parents, and Karkaroff, convinced him that it wouldn’t be so bad. What was a little more Quidditch? So long as he could still fly it shouldn’t have mattered. The members of the team had looked at him strangely as he remained rather quiet and a little awkward on the ground, but they understood once they saw him fly. Even their former seeker who was less than happy about being replaced by a seventeen-year-old had to bow out. 

Viktor was incomparable on a broom, especially his own broom. His team had welcomed him with open arms once he began to play in actual games and win. Ludo Bagman had called him Viktor “Krazy” Krum after he’d executed a Wronski Feint on accident during his second professional game. The other seeker had been badly injured, but the Vultures had won and then… he’d met her. There had been nothing suspicious about it at first, nothing odd. She spoke English, so did he, though not as well as any other language. Sometimes they spoke Greek to make it easier. She seemed nice, not necessarily clamoring for his attention, but interested in him. 

It hadn’t been until about a week into their relationship that he’d felt a little strange. It had been slow, almost undetectable, Viktor’s obsession with the girl. Sometimes, he’d wondered why he let her, this girl that was a year his senior, do things to him, things that in his right mind he would have never allowed. He’d wondered why he’d allowed himself to let her shatter him and leave him in bed the way she did, but he hadn’t thought anything more of it than love and her being older, more experienced.

It was the way things were supposed to be, she’d told him and he believed it even as something in him screamed that it was just a lie. He should have thought something strange when he refused to take her up on his broom. It was the one thing he always seemed to be able to say no to. Anything else, pain, pleasure, humiliation, shame, the cold and dark recesses of despair that came with her harsh words when he couldn’t get the sounds of English to fit in his mouth when they were together…

All of that had been forgivable, not worthy of note. 

That had been when Antonio and Cyrus had gotten suspicious leading his comrades, his brothers at heart, to start an intervention on his behalf. He’d been irrational, angry, freaking out. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep couldn’t do much of anything without her until he fell off his broom--fever high and plummeted the hundreds of feet to the bone-breaking ground, unconscious. His coach had saved his life and got him to the mediwitch of the team. She’d been useless saying that he was just tired. His grandmother took him to St. Mungo’s at which point they diagnosed him with severe love potion poisoning. 

It was something that only happened when someone was fed amortentia that hadn’t been freshly brewed for each dose. It was potentially deadly as it could cause him to not eat, not sleep, and generally not function if not around the object of obsession. The detox had been painful. He wasn’t sure how much Hate Potion he drank, how long they forced him to eat while strapped to his hospital bed, how loud he’d screamed desperate in his despair and thrashing in terror as everything in his body seemed to be reaching out for her, willing his body to tear itself apart.

He remembered Cyrus wrapping his wrists from where Viktor had made himself bleed while fighting the restraints. His eyes, usually more hazel than gold had been a burning gold then and angry. 

That had been all of a few weeks ago in which time she’d been arrested and sentenced to prison. The Bulgarian Ministry of Magic had been kind enough to keep it all quiet and out of the papers, but they could do nothing for Viktor’s feelings when he woke up and realized that everything from the past year had been a lie. The things he’d done had been acts of manipulation, potion-induced desperation to please...At least his interaction with the Draught of Desire had ended relatively nicely. He didn’t remember much of what it had taken to work it out of his system, but he’d felt no shame, no guilt, no despair. If anything, he felt freed and Cyrus had sworn not to tell anyone without Viktor's permission, not even Viktor, but there was a look in his eyes that told Viktor that not only would he never say anything, but he would also gladly do it again. Perhaps he was just biding his time until Viktor asked to be told or asked for it to happen again. He didn’t know, he didn’t even care if it would help this suffocating weight on his chest lessen.

“Take a break,” Cyrus told him. “The rest of the school year to just think, okay? No Quidditch, we’ll figure something out with Karkaroff and your parents, promise.”

Viktor had only nodded, his jaw clenched. They offered to get him whatever he needed. If he needed to just duel for days on end, to keep the rest of the school away from him--whatever he needed, they’d do it without question. For a moment, Viktor's hands trembled, his jaw clenched to ask Cyrus to do whatever it was that had left him feeling so free, empty and relaxed and settled.

_ Of course, you like it, you’re just--  _

He turned away from them, moving to his desk to write his letter, but they didn’t leave the room completely. Antonio went to get food for him, Petya went with him while Aleksandr and Cyrus remained on the floor watching him out of the corner of their eyes. 

He penned the letter to the coach of the Vratsa Vultures who told him to take all the time he needed to recover and not to worry about the contract. They could make it through the preliminary World Cup games without him. He wrote to his parents to tell them that he wouldn’t be competing. They’d been upset, telling him to be stronger, but they couldn’t do anything once Karkaroff contacted them to say that he’d given Viktor leave to recuperate. He wasn’t sure what Antonio and the others said to Karkaroff to make him agree, but he thanked them eternally for it. He locked his broom in his cupboard so he wouldn’t have to see it along with the Vratsa broom. It had felt tainted somehow, flight and how much he’d loved it had been tainted and until he could separate it he couldn’t get back on the broom. 

He didn’t speak, but no one in Durmstrang seemed to mind. They talked knowing he was listening, not always trying to pull him out of his silence. He found himself in the library reading, writing, finishing his homework. His grades were as excellent as always, his professors marked how his writing style had changed, impressed for the most part. His dueling had gotten better, good enough that he and Cyrus were paired together to face off against upperclassmen for their exams. 

Today, he left their room after Cyrus heading outside into the blistering cold. It was freezing but bright with sunlight. The water near the shore was frozen thick and solid and in the distance he could hear the laughter of his classmates, throwing the snowball while racing across the ice.

“Hey,” someone called and he looked up. 

Desislav skated over on his charmed boots, “Come.”

Viktor shook his head, but Desislav had already charmed his boots, pulling him onto his feet as Viktor scrambled to try and maintain balance. 

“Come on,” Desislav said with a smile. “You have been to yourself for long enough come enjoy this rare sunny day with us.”

He looked at him, “I don’t know how to skate.”

“That is a yes!” Antonio cheered, skidding to a stop and sending ice sputtering. “We’ll teach you, one foot in front of the other…”

He winced, there was a reason he preferred to fly. His feet were a bit too big for his frame in his opinion and he’d always felt awkward in his body when it was on the ground. This was no different, but eventually, he’d figured out the mechanics and could at least skate a full circle… 

That was until someone threw a snowball hard enough to knock him to the ice with a thud. 

“You,” he glared at the classmate who’d done it, but then there was an arsenal of them raining down on his head, laughter as he cast up a shield charm and climbed to his feet. 

“You may be an artist in the air, but we’re on the ground now,” someone told him tossing a snowball in the air. Viktor snorted. 

“And I am still better than you, " he said raising his wand and twirling it silently and conjuring a wall of snowballs standing at the ready to fire. 

He laughed as they paled and began to skate away. He launched them after them, not surprised when Cyrus turned to counter with his own spells while others fired back or just skated away. 

"This is war!" Someone declared conjuring a wall of snow, a great white avalanche.

Cyrus glided around to stand on Viktor's side against the onslaught. It was so very obvious that they were dueling partners and roommates as they moved in sync, conjuring snowmen to fill ranks and balls of protected ice to shoot at the rest of the students. Cyrus took lead on demolishing the wall of snow they were working to conjure. 

"That is not fair!" Petya cried trying to throw up a shield charm. 

"All's fair in war," they quipped and launched the attack laughing as the wall of snow was pushed back by Cyrus's incantation. Viktor rolled his wrist and guided the balls of snow into the air above their heads before spreading his hands so they enlarged above the scrambling student's hands.

"No!" Petya cried. "No, no, no, no!"

"Yes," Viktor dropping his hands. The snowballs came falling down exploding onto the ice as students ran for cover. Some put up shields that were soon buried beneath the onslaught. 

When it was over, Cyrus smirked watching them wriggle their way out of the snow, yelling indignantly across the lake. 

He looked at Viktor and found him collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach, laughing. A light carefree sound that Cyrus hadn’t heard in a long time. Sure, Viktor wasn’t completely steady or healed yet, but he was laughing-- really laughing. 

“You think you’re funny!” Petya yelled, tumbling over the mound of snow. “You could have killed us!”

“Doubt it,” Cyrus said. “You’re too stupid to die so easily.”

Petya flushed, grabbing Cyrus by the neck only to be tripped and tossed onto his back. Viktor gasped for breath, falling onto his back and trying to make himself stop laughing. 

“We’ll settle this on the pitch!” Someone said hovering over them on his broom. “You’re not going to fake me out this time, Cyrus.”

“I don’t need to, you’ll fake yourself out.”

Cyrus laughed, pulling his broom out to enlarge it, he straddled it and hovered before looking at Viktor. His face flushed, his eyes bright, yet there was a hesitance upon seeing Cyrus on his broom. Cyrus smirked. 

“When you’re ready, come join us? I’ll hold these idiots off.”

Viktor met his eyes and while the little scrimmage match that they would play wouldn’t involve a snitch, he knew that Cyrus meant until whenever Viktor was ready to get back on his broom. He nodded and watched Cyrus fly off towards the pitch and take his position at the goal. They’d only be playing with a quaffle and bludgeons since they didn’t both have official seekers. 

Cyrus defends the goals like he always does: a stone, bright-eyed wall. If they didn’t know better, they would have thought that the balls were scared of him. When Viktor and his pseudo-apprentice arrive the game pauses so they can join them on the pitch.

Cyrus only grinned, “200 to zero.”

Viktor laughed, “You are too harsh on them.”

“No such thing,” he said with a shrug. “Guess we can play a proper game now, yeah?”

Viktor nodded slowly, coasting to hover beside him, “I wrote to Sergei.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m… going back to training tomorrow… They think we’ll make it to the World Cup.”

Cyrus smirked, “I’m sure you will.”

“It… will get better won’t it?”

Cyrus looked at him and pat his shoulder, “Yeah. It will.”


	3. Things Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a mission and Viktor may have just seen her carrying it out. Severus was going to kill her. Afterwards, Viktor is rescued from an incredibly uncomfortable evening by Cyrus and learns something crucial to Cyrus's identity.

“Get back to the portkey, everybody, and stick together!” 

He’d commanded, yet Hermione knew that even running for their lives would do nothing. They could be struck down when not watching. They would inevitably get separated and someone would be left behind.  Per her training, per everything she knew, it couldn’t be Harry.

So she ran as soon as they were distracted, moments after they’d lost Harry in the stampede. It hadn’t taken long to lose him in the stampede as soon as the rest of the Weasleys went running, but with Ron holding on to her, she couldn’t manage to get to him before they’d lost track of him completely before he fell and was half trampled. What Arthur didn’t know was that she had other priorities.

“Hermione!” She heard Ron yelling back after her.

Hermione cast a disillusionment charm as soon as she’d got away and kept running, casting a familiar sequence of protection charms over herself, things for reflexes and stability. She waited for just a moment before brandishing her wand against a masked Death Eater marching by as a small group World Cup attendees rushed away from the burning tents, thankful that someone had been there to defend them.

The man was good. Canceling her disillusionment spell and grinning as she spun to look at him. Firing spell after spell with a maniacal laughter. None of them were killing curses, or even torture, just blasts meant to hurt her, disorient her and maybe even make her the perfect prize to take back to his Lord. It was his luck that she was no one’s prize.

“Stupefy!”

He blocked it, but could not block the non-verbal spell he did not hear coming. The hooded figure flew back through the burning tents, catching on the remains and rolling, stunned as she continued to run through the burning tents, yelling for people to get out, to run back to their portkeys as quickly as they could and searching for Harry among the insanity of this attack that did not seem to be geared towards accomplishing anything but instilling fear in the most public way possible.

“Harry!”

She heard the sound of a foreign language, spells being cast and dove out of the way, scrambling to her feet to chase after the body that ran from her through the tents. The figure turned, waving a sinister looking wand through the dark.

“ _ Avada Kedavra! _ ”

She dove aside, watching the ball of light rush overhead and tumble into a collection of tents. She waited until the man turned to run towards another group of Death Eaters before standing and hurrying after them. Hurling hexes and spells after them to impede their progress along with the sound of sure-footed footsteps and a voice yelling out magic in something wasn’t English, or even Latin from farther away. She stopped and closed her mouth and concentrated, narrowing her eyes at her masked targets running away and just as they were about to apparate raised her wand sent out a litany of spells. 

Their voices fell silent. Wands went flying before ropes twined around the group, binding them together and lifting them together into the air, dangling by a foot and bound, trapped in an anti-apparation charm. Stuck, trapped. She knew from the quick duels that they did not have the skill to perform wandless, non-verbal magic, but she kept her distance until she could incapacitate them. When they were out, she moved forward. Reaching into her infinitely extend jeans pockets, she pulled out vials and pressed her wand to each of their heads, working quickly to pull as many memories from his head as she could, important ones, tactical ones and storing them in a vial, before stepping back. 

“Obliviate.”

She watched the cascading light that would erase her presence from their memories as she stored the vials in her pocket. Severus would want this information. She let out a breath and whirled lifting her wand at the sound of footsteps only to see a dark, brooding young man standing there. His blood red clothing slightly torn, blood on his face and ash, but he stared her in wonder. His heart racing and warm feeling beneath his skin, fizzling and a little light headed while seeing her.

He was handsome in his own right from what she could tell at the distance and in the dark. Through the haze of battle, she would have dared say that she felt a little warm just looking at him. She glanced to the set of hooded figures lying unconscious behind him then to the bound group of four behind her. His eyes weren’t wide with horror or shock, but rather open, assessing--impressed she dare say.

“Hermione!?” She heard Ron yell not far enough away to be good and she stiffened, deciding against trying to wipe this man’s memory. She ended the floating charm and stepped into apparation, landing and running further into the middle of the camping area, screaming for Harry as Ron came back from the edge of camp hearing her voice. 

“Are you alright? We lost you both.” Ron said as Hermione reached Harry and they looked up to the Dark Mark floating over the camp site. 

*

The dark haired young man turned to the ghastly mark in the sky and stowed his wand away before deciding against trying to look for the witch with swift spell work, wild curly hair, and eyes like a knife flashing in the moonlight. With an even complexion of a rich brown color that made him think of rich soil and chocolate. She’d been beautiful even though she’d clearly been ready to blast him to pieces. 

Why hadn’t she? He wasn’t sure. He apparated back to the Vratsa Vultures’ camp, greeted his comrades and followed them to the portkey that would take them back to Bulgaria. They hugged him, thanking the Gods that he had not been harmed. His coach squeezed him tight demanding that he never do that again as his grandmother may be old but she was still well-renowned as a fierce witch and not above hexing him into an early grave.

“Did you hear, Viktor? It is Hogwarts this year.”

“Beware of English women,” Petya said. “I hear they are not to be trifled with.”

Viktor shook his head shoving him, “No woman is meant to be trifled with. Let’s go before Karkaroff has a fit.”

Petya nodded and they hurried to grab hold of the portkey and land in Bulgaria. They would only stay the night before heading back to Durmstrang. He pondered the golden snitch from the game and looked out into the summer night. It was warm for Bulgaria’s summer, a good sign too. 

His father pat him on the shoulder, congratulating him for losing but not being defeated and they set the snitch from this game beside the other important ones. His mother kissed his cheek before he’d settled it on the mantle. His first snitch, the first snitch as a Vratsa Vulture, and now his first World Cup Snitch--the next one would be the winning World Cup snitch he was sure of it. It was odd, these moments. He used to look forward them like a warm balm on the frayed hurting places their displeasure had caused him as a child, but now he could feel nothing…

Maybe it was because the Amortentia had done more than just scorched his ability to be manipulated with potions, but his ability to feel anything like love or affection ever again. 

He nodded to himself, that couldn’t be right. His feelings towards Cyrus, Aleksandr, Petya, and Antonio hadn’t changed, towards his team members. Perhaps instead a part of him realized that they didn’t…  _ care _ about him, the same way she hadn’t cared about him. He was just a way to bring them fame, glory, money, status power…

He bit back an empty sob at the thought of his parents being anything like the witch who’d nearly killed him. 

“Viktor?” his mother asked in her elegant dress robes. “You should go get dressed, the guests will be arriving soon.”

_ Expectation, pride... _

“What guests?” he asked looking at her. 

“For the party of course,” she said. “It is not every day my son is in the World Cup.”

He swallowed his words and looked to his father who was speaking with a House Elf with regard to the arrangements in the ballroom. 

_ Pride, expectation...arrogance... _

He said nothing, turning towards the room he used when he was home. He found himself changing with no emotions behind the motions. The sooner he showed his face, the sooner he could be free of it all. He would only be home for a little while before heading back to training and then to school for the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. His post-World Cup homecoming was more of a pureblood gala than the happy affair he'd hoped for complete with dress robes and ballroom dancing. He scowled at himself in the reflection as he walked down the hall of the Krum Manor. His too-big feet shuffling down the hall, so very awkward on land where people could swarm and touch him. Their eyes all empty and vapid, wanting him and sending tendrils of discomfort and nausea up his spine. 

He remembered that she’d look at him like that while he couldn’t move, while his mind and body didn’t want to move and his soul was screaming that something was wrong. 

There was drinking and Petya, Aleksandr, and Antonio cheering for him. Girls who wanted attention, whom his mother invited.  There were other Durmstrang sons that had been invited with their parents. Some of them preferring to stick close to their families, some of them breaking off to join the slowly growing group of boys at the far corner of the hall. He was a little surprised to see them there since it was a well-known fact that his mother and father, Stanislav and Krasmira Krum were the kind of blood purists who did not associate with those who had not grown up strictly wizarding. They didn’t toss around the word “mudblood” or speak their disdain openly, but it was obvious in the fact that they always seemed to leave most of his friends from Durmstrang off the list. Antonio, being a pureblood of Greece, was always invited as were his sisters and it was through him that the rest of his friends were always sure to be there since Viktor was always the last one to know of the event. 

As usual, his father had a tumbler of alcohol in hand and a circle of old friends around him while his mother paraded him around to introduce him to every eligible woman in the room. It was the kind of callous that had made him eternally grateful to be leaving to spend his summer with his grandmother in less than a week since her home was closer to the training grounds.It made it hard to stomach anything more than ginger water during the evening. Even more grateful when Eleonora, his grandmother, snagged him from a group of women who all smelled of something meant to meddle with his senses. It made his stomach churn at the blatant covetous feeling he got from them all. The women pouted at the fact that he wasn't affected by their magic perfumes. It was a side effect of the poisoning he was technically still recovering from, something in his heart and body had been rubbed a little too raw by the potion. The Healers at St. Mungo’s weren’t ever sure if he’d be affected by such things again. He hoped not. He didn’t ever want to be under the influence of potions and someone else’s agenda like that ever again. 

"Thank you," he said squeezing her tightly. 

She stroked his buzz cut hair gently, holding him as he stood trembling, his stomach tensing with the threat to throw up everything he hadn’t eaten since the gala had started. She can feel it in the tenseness in his shoulders and the little voice screaming  _ run, run, run. _

"Of course dear, dance with an old lady?"

"I would dance with beautiful woman before any young fluff-headed girl."

He meant that, but she asked him about the girl he'd written about and he found himself smiling to her surprise. He felt his stomach almost settle for a moment. 

"I would dance with her, she has far more than fluff in her head."

She nodded and gave him a knowing smile that made him flush.

"What about your friend, Cyrus? He isn't here?"

"He will be," Viktor said, assuredly. His parents had actually approved of Cyrus, perhaps because he was just so very charming and spoke to them like he’d been in the wizarding world all his life.

"Perhaps you can dance with him."

"What are you saying?" He sputtered.

"I only meant to tease,” she said with an eyebrow quirked. “But apparently quite a lot from your reaction..."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right."

When Cyrus arrived, he grinned across the room at Viktor and joined the circle of Durmstrang students. Krasmira and Stanislav greeted him warmly, offered him a drink and laughed a bit with him before leaving him to his conversation. Eventually, Eleonora released Viktor to the group and went about distracting his mother from trying to set him up with any of the women there. If he was grateful for anything, it was his grandmother. 

“Are you alright?” Cyrus asked, searching his eyes, holding a cup. 

“I will be,” Viktor said as Cyrus offered him a cup. 

“Ginger ale,” he said. “Should help. There’s something salty floating around here I think.”

Viktor’s lips quirked, “How’d you know?”

Cyrus snorted, “I live with you and you looked queasy  while you dodged the vultures.”

He smirked and turned to address the rest of the group, smiles and hugs around. There was joy and celebration to be had for surviving the night’s battle and his first World Cup, but the woman he’d encountered in the forest had captured his attention. Serving to make him feel light enough that the newspapers would comment on his apparently brightened mood despite the loss and print speculations about a new love and so much else by morning.

He slipped away from the party when it became obvious that the ginger ale would only do so much for him. It was quiet outside, the sound of the Bulgarian countryside filling his senses and making the knots in his stomach ease. His mind drifted to that face in the forest, the delicate hands that had been poised to strike him down. That warm feeling, filling him now and chasing away the dark cold of his memories. Shame faded and was replaced by an unbridled curiosity. It felt a bit like scanning the pitch for the Snitch in between helping his teammates score and defend. 

He wondered where she was from, somewhere in Africa? England? Bulgaria, he allowed himself to think for a moment. How old was she? Who was she? Was she a Quidditch fan or perhaps a Ministry Official since she wielded a wand so effortlessly and fought Death Eaters with no fear. Deadly, beautiful and so very intriguing...Too bad that he would probably never see her again.

"Thinking about her?" Cyrus asked finding him outside enjoying the late night summer air.

"Yes," he admitted. "I...got a feeling."

"Love at first sight?"Cyrus teased.

"No," he said. "Like the feeling I got when we met."

Cyrus didn’t even flinch at the words, letting the warmth they caused spread all the way to his toes. Instead, he smirked,  "Well, I am rather beautiful."

Viktor scowled at him, shoving him as he chuckled. 

"It's like...humming, in my blood. We could...be good friends."

Cyrus looked up into the sky, a wry smile at the stars, "Magical resonance?”

He asks it as if he doesn’t know, as if he hadn’t researched it since the first time he’d felt it, meeting Viktor. That isn’t what it’s called in the books, but it’s a symptom of something Cyrus was beginning to think was more and more likely to be true.  Something that would probably freak Viktor out, so close to his death scare, something that still freaked Cyrus out a little. 

“Like two of the same cores locking together when a spell is cast? Or finding the wand that’s perfect for you?"

Viktor looked at him strangely. Sometimes, Cyrus had these incredible moments of insight that he couldn’t ever explain, as if he wasn’t just reading Viktor’s emotions, but his thoughts as well. 

"How are your parents?"

Cyrus coughed with a laugh. Parents… you would have had to have been adopted to have parents when you were an orphan… Had to have been worth it, but that had never happened. He’d been lying for so long that he’d forgotten whom he’d lied to...Had he lied to Viktor or had someone else just told him whatever lie that cyrus had come up with since coming to Durmstrang. He'd been more or less alone at Hogwarts save a few students in the Ravenclaw who had taken him under their wing and acclimated him to the wizarding world.

"They're..."

Viktor looked at him.

"Viktor," he said. "You have to keep this between us, okay?"

Viktor turned and looked at him, meeting Cyrus's face. Their eyes met and he felt that humming in his blood again before he nodded and listened to this heavy secret Cyrus had been carrying around. Viktor felt his heart stutter as he spoke, so many things clicking together inside his head… So many questions. He decided on just the one, the one that matters most to their relationship.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Cyrus shrugged, nonchalantly, but Viktor knew better. The little voice that had gotten stronger in the aftermath of the amortentia haze, no longer just a feeling but a voice whispering, told him to wrap his arms around Cyrus tightly.

_ Shame... hurt… lonely… _

Cyrus stilled for a moment.

"When you're ready," Viktor said. "I'll hold off the idiots."

Cyrus laughed, loud and high, tense and closer to a sob than anything. 

_ Lonely, sad… desperate-- _

“You have us even if you never find them,” Viktor said pulling back, his hands on Cyrus’s shoulders. “You could have my parents if you want.”

He scoffed, “That is not a deal. I’d take your grandmother, though.”

“She is not for trading.”

They both laughed at that turning back towards the party to try and make the most of the night.


	4. Sons of Durmstrang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have come to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament... 
> 
> Unfortunately, that was the least of her problems...
> 
> At least her problem is handsome and rather sweet.

Hermione licked her lips, a little annoyed that she couldn’t be reading right now. Sure, she’d enchanted all of her pockets to be extended, but pulling a professional healing tome from one of them would have caused a level of suspicion that she was under strict orders from Severus to avoid on pain of juicing leeches for hours at a time for the rest of her time at Hogwarts.

So she tried to maintain the conversation she was having with the people around her, who were glad to have classes end early today, but quickly backed out when it was apparently about the World Cup. She’d already been scolded for being seen by the young man in the wreckage and sentenced to practice every disillusionment, invisibility, and silencing charm she knew… She hadn’t been allowed to be noticed for a full week upon the start of classes, like some sort of spirit with no form or impression on the Halls of Hogwarts. People had wondered if she’d been sick or run away from the school until she reappeared.

Somehow, she’d almost looked forward to it, enjoyed it even. It wasn’t as if she was very much noticed now. There was Ginny, who befriended her first because she was friends with Harry and Ron and the only other female of the group. Then there was Harry who had always stood somewhere in between oblivious and always standing with Ron. He very often let their ties fall to the wayside in favor of his relationship with Ron. Then, Ron who noticed her so long as she helped him with homework and kept them from getting themselves killed...The rest of the Weasleys… the rest of the school… 

She supposed it could have been worse… The fact that they rarely noticed her unless she was correcting them, helping them with their homework, or coming up with a plan for their latest catastrophe.  They could be asking her why she cried herself to sleep nearly every night when she wasn’t so beat down from her sessions with Severus. Or worse, why she didn’t seem to have time or energy to cry herself to sleep any longer. The first were a collection of questions she didn’t want to ever have to answer--not even to herself. 

The second were a collection of answers that she could not and would not answer for the sake of the war that was breathing down their necks though no one seemed to want to acknowledge it. The answers were secrets she had to keep buried, had to keep secret and only bring them to life when she needed to remember  _ why _ she spent so much time in the dungeons with Severus getting thrown around. In the back of the Infirmary with Madame Pomfrey, learning about the myriad of potions that would heal a wizard from nearly anything. In a myriad of classrooms and alcoves learning things that she shouldn’t be…

Why her homework was meant for a seventh year class for more subjects than she could admit. Why the row of gold medals had done little to reassure her of her place in the muggle world when it was so very obvious that in order to keep that place, she would have to step further into the mystics of wizarding and leave her muggle sensibilities, her muggle medals and achievements behind.

Drawing herself out of such thoughts, she looked up at the sound of heels on the ground, the ladies of Beauxbaton Academy fluttering and sighing in. She glanced at Ginny who looked perhaps even less impressed than she did as every male in the vicinity seemed to stand, clap, and oogle the loose fabric of their uniforms fluttering by. When their Headmistress greeted Dumbledore and the ladies finally moved aside, Dumbledore raised his hands at the front of the hall.

“Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their High Master, Igor Kakaroff!”

Hermione looked up at the sound of boots on the ground and the thumping of staffs on the stone floors. It feels heady, like a call to war as they march in down the center of the Great Hall. It’s a cadence that makes her think of a cousin who was in the British Military Academy. When they run, she isn’t surprised. Their sort of theatricality being very different that Beauxbaton… Yet what does surprise her and makes her insides turn is the young man walking in next to the High Master. 

_ No... _ she thought a little panicked, watching him through narrowed eyes, wishing beyond anything that it wasn’t true. That he wasn’t here and that rush of warmth wasn't there too.

“Blimey, it’s him…” Ron whispered in awe. “It’s Viktor Krum.”

Hermione looked at Ron for a moment, missing what he’d said, but watching the stern face move down the center of the room, taking the lead in front of Igor.  The young man now in the light of the Hall was familiar, hauntingly familiar though she couldn’t really place why. Either way, he was the same who’d seen her perform magic far beyond her year during the Death Eater attack at the World Cup. She regarded him warily and didn’t miss the recognition in his eyes when he saw her in the sea of students. 

She licked her lips again and looked forward to the Professor’s table to meet Severus’s eyes. He looked at her in acknowledgment, but returned his gaze to the phoenix one of the students had conjured and to the Headmasters exchanging hugs.

Somehow, she felt that this year had only gotten more complicated. The one person who could blow a hole in all the secrets she had to keep was here in the school. To make matters worse, after their very telling introductions, Dumbledore scrambled to the front, had them all rise and sing the school song. She read under her breath and tried not to feel ridiculous, remembering that she didn’t have to waste her voice on this. It wouldn’t have been right, her grandmother would have scoffed and shaken her head. 

_ Don’t waste it on this foolishness,  _ she’d say.  _ Your voice is meant for better things, Mia. _

Instead, she had to think of a way to keep up the charade that she was maybe a highly advanced sixth or seventh year should he chose to confront her until they left back to their castle, or figure out how to obliviate his memories of that night and anyone else he told about it.

She shook her head, she’d be crushing snake fangs for months for sure from the look on Severus’s face… 

Or worse--dueling with him every night. 

*

When Igor told him that they would be journeying to Hogwarts and they expected Viktor to be competing in the Triwizard tournament, he’d been prepared for many things. He’d brushed up on his English, though there had been no helping his accent it seemed. He’d brought his school robes and his broom-- the essentials. He hadn’t expected to see the brown-skinned, curly-haired witch who’d leveled a group of Death Eaters all on her own.

A young woman in her final year for sure. A young woman he hoped to have the chance to compete against and get to know over the year. Alluring in ways that he hadn’t realized a young woman their age could be. Even at the glance, he’d felt the warm tingling beneath his skin.

He also wasn’t prepared for the gaggle of giggling English girls who insisted on following him around. He ducked around a corner and took off into a sprint, stepping into the shadows of an alcove and held his breath as they hurried past. He whispered a Disillusionment charm and tapped his head, shuddering at the thick wet feeling over his body before continuing down the hall towards what he was told would be the library.  He stepped inside and felt almost as if he’d mounted his broom, a lightness filling him quickly at the grand sight of all the books. 

It feels like entering his grandmother’s estate that was three-quarters workshop and library, and a fourth of living quarters surrounded by land that lead straight to the coast where he could fly as fast as her newest creation could take him. He’d remembered when she’d finally allowed him to go higher than her head. He’d been all of four at the time, still on the starter broom that she was developing for production. When she’d released the tether to her hand, he’d taken off, unable to steer the broom, but holding on for dear life and screaming as it took him fast across the Black Sea in dizzying circles before bringing him back towards the house and tumbling him to the ground.

He’d been hooked ever since-- scraped knees and bruises be damned.

He stepped further into the library, looking around and trying to keep to the shadows. Disillusioned or not, he would rather not worry about any of them following him,  but then he felt the illusion break and whirled to find the person who’d done it to look at the girl once more… The girl from the World Cup who looked exceedingly embarrassed. 

“ _ There he is… _ ” someone whispered from the other side of the bookshelf as he regarded the girl.

In the light of the library, he realized that her skin wasn’t just a rich brown, but seemed to glow with gold just beneath its richness.  Her eyes a decadent brown in her face, looking up at him. She was a tad slight of frame for a young woman of what he supposed to be her age, seventeen or eighteen, but it was possible that she simply hadn’t hit the stride into that part of womanhood yet. Regardless, he found her beautiful…

And then she spoke warm foreign words that washed over his senses and amplified the humming in his blood.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-- I thought…” she shook her head and tapped his head, restoring the illusion with a soft whisper and a thick wet feeling sliding over his body. “Sorry.”

He blinked but followed her as she turned with a collection of tomes in her arms, far too big for her to carry alone though she didn’t seem to understand that or care.

“Please, let me help you?”

Hermione blinked as he stepped out of his disillusionment and lifted the books from her arms. Disregarding the girls who seemed to be gathering at the end of the aisle to get a good look at him, giggling and whispering among themselves.

“Why?” She asked looking at him.

“Is… polite to carry heavy books for beautiful girl,” he said, confused as to why she had to ask. Confused even more when she turned away from him, eyes cast downward.

“I… don’t particularly need your help.”

“I know,” he said. “Call... excuse to talk with you?”

“Why would you need an excuse to do so?” Hermione asked, turning her head in curiosity.

He smiled a little wryly, “English not first language… What boy not nervous to speak with beautiful girl?”

She looked at him, but could not answer, instead pulling more books off the shelf and walking towards a secluded table, behind books and through a charm he could only feel as he passed through it. The words had struck a chord she didn’t like to acknowledge often. It was never in harmony with all the others. She was brilliant, resourceful, diligent, loyal… beautiful had never been a part of that and she’d always been comfortable in her plainness. Her mother insisted that she would hit her stride eventually and come into all the genes of the family (a fuller figure is what she said) but Hermione wasn’t ever sure if she wanted, needed, or even cared about it… at least not anymore. 

There were more important things than being beautiful would do nothing for. She would always be the insufferable, buck-toothed, know-it-all that would help anyone with their homework provided that they didn’t get on her nerves or insult her openly… She’d accepted that and he role in the grand scheme of the coming war. More importantly, his words did not help the strange tingling feeling in her skin that made her want to smile at him. She just credited it to being the kind of ruggedly handsome that made Superman such a popular figure in the muggle world. Tall, dark, and handsome with eyes so deep and so intense it was as if he was taking more than just a note of her appearance, but of her entire being as well.  

“You always study here?”

Hermione nodded, “It’s quiet and if I practice spells no one can hear me beyond the charm.”

He looked to the almost invisible barrier, “Is safe?”

“Safe?” Hermione asked sitting down as he set her stack of books on the table. “Thank you, that was very kind of you, but what do you mean by safe?”

“Is hard to… avoid giggling girls of Hogwarts. Very persistent.”

She laughed at the slight scowl on his face. She was under the impression that his looks and the fact that he was a new creature in Hogwarts would be the reason. 

“It’s because you’re new,” she said. “Not many males of your caliber around.”

Viktor winced, “Caliber is… like status, yes?”

She nodded.

“Harry Potter here, yes?”

Hermione frowned and nodded, “Yes… but he doesn’t have the bonus of being a new species of male to the ladies of Hogwarts.”

Nor as handsome in her opinion. Harry had a boyish attractiveness to him, not the kind that made girls lose their minds. This teen carried himself like a man and looked like one too, just young in the face enough for it not to be weird, but old enough to have the older, more experienced hot guy allure.

He frowned and regarded her, “New… species? Famous is new?”

“Famous?” Hermione asked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I am Viktor Krum,” he said. “What do you mean  _ new species? _ ”

Her jaw dropped. _ Viktor Krum… _ Ron’s idol, the youngest seeker in history for the World Cup, the  _ best _ per the stats that Ron and Harry quoted endlessly. The one from the World Cup-- 

_ Oh god _ , she thought, hanging her head. Here she was thinking that he was just a handsome guy from a different school, here he was an international celebrity  _ and  _ a handsome foreign man. She looked over at the group of girls who were peering around the aisle of books scanning for him and whispering about the fact that they’d lost him and Hermione. As a celebrity of his status, the “giggling girls of Hogwarts” would be the least of what he was trying to avoid. 

“Well, you are an international celebrity, Mr. Krum...I’m sorry, I didn’t even know.” Hermione winced, “I mean I know your name, but I just didn’t connect it with your face. Sorry.”

“Viktor,” he corrected, meeting her eyes. “Please? I hear enough of last name.”

She nodded and held out her hand, “Hermione.”

He smiled, taking her hand and kissing it gently. 

“Her...my-own,” he tried the syllables tangling on his tongue as she smiled indulgently and he tried again. “Hermininy.”

He flushed with frustration, “Am sorry, I… butcher name… I try.”

Hermione shook her head, “It’s okay. I know it’s a mouthful and in a different language… with a different alphabet-- I appreciate you trying, though. Some people don’t bother. Besides, I didn’t even recognize you and you’re a celebrity. It’s fair trade.”

He swallowed, “I will manage someday…And not bad you not know who I am…Is refreshing.”

Hermione smiled at his earnest expression, “Thanks, Viktor. Were you looking for something particular in the library?”

“Place to study in peace,” he said. “And books for class.”

“What sort of books?”

He regarded her for a moment before digging through his bag and pulling out a list. She’s shocked first at how neat his handwriting is, after years of reading Ron and Harry’s scribble. The fact that most of these books were on her table and the rest may have been in her bag may have had something to do with her shock as well. He followed her nervous gaze to the spines stacked on the table. 

Viktor’s eyes widened, “You are seventh year, yes?”

She took a seat, gesturing for him to do the same.  She looked through the stack as he regarded her, watching her pull the books out to sit in front of her. It takes him a moment of observation to string together the pieces that she had pretty much every book on that list in English and French it seemed in her large bag.

She looked at him as his eyes narrowed, “Hogwarts teach a lot. Did not think school with silly song train students that way.”

Hermione slid the books across the table to him, “Here they are. I haven’t checked them out so you’re welcome to do so.”

Hermione looked up at him, her shoulders tense, her expression almost neutral with hint of fear at the corner of her eyes. He looked at the books and then back to her. His stomach churning to ask. Asking for anything had left such a bad taste in his mouth after all… but this was different, wasn’t it? He was asking a question, not for anything necessarily. 

His stomach didn’t seem to care.

“I… wish to ask question, this okay?”

Hermione swallowed, leaning forward, “It depends on what the question is.”

“About… World Cup...you were there, yes?”

Hermione licked her lips, thankful for the charm, “If you’re asking why I’m not giggling, it’s because I don’t particularly care for Quidditch.”

“Ne,” Viktor said nodding his head.  “Ask… how you learn to fight so well… From what High Master say of Hogwarts, is no school for fighting like Durmstrang.”

His lips lifted a bit with frustration, clearly trying to string together the English words to speak to her, “You… different from other girls. Not giggle, silly, head empty. I have never seen warrior like you. Was curious… wished to… speak with you about then...Was surprised to see you at table here.”

Hermione swallowed, “I read.”

Viktor’s eyebrow lifted, “Many read--you  _ know _ . Not easy magic you do at World Cup.”

More than that there had been a tactical experience that she’d exhibited that Viktor knew first hand did not come from  _ reading _ . Martial skill, tactical cunning and of course raw power that spoke more to intense training than 

Hermione swallowed, “No, it isn’t.”

Viktor licked his lips nervously. This hadn’t been what he’d imagined, nor had he planned to nearly interrogate her about her experience and knowledge. He sat back watching the line of tension that she attempted to hide as she looked at him.

“I have… offend you, yes?” His heart sped up and with it came the thickness of his accent and his words.  “Did not mean to hassle. I go now, read books later. Much apology, Miss Hermi-own-ee.”

He flushed then as she looked up and watched him stand, prepared to leave and bowing his apology to her, attempting to run away before the stinging words could come for butchering her name, for bugging her, for asking questions when he should have been quiet. 

_ You’re such a dumb slut, Viktor. I’ll teach you. _

He swallowed around the tightness of her phantom hand around his throat.

“It’s… okay,” she said despite herself, swallowing thickly. “I...It is just something that I can’t afford to let a lot of people know about.”

It was almost adorable how flustered he seemed to be, speaking so fast, his accent growing stronger with his anxiety. What did he have to be flustered for? She was just a bookworm in the library and he was the youngest, most famous Seeker in the world. 

Viktor shook his head, “Secret safe with me. Will not to… how do you say…  be difficult, persistent next time.”

Hermione smiled, her lips closed over her teeth, laughing a little, “You weren’t difficult. It’s just I was not expecting to see you, nor you be who you are...It is not the easiest situation to deal with, but it would be nice to have someone to study with.”

Viktor swallowed, slowly setting his things back down, hopeful and a little frightened, “Is okay?”

Hermione nodded, “I hardly ever share this table with anyone unless I’m tutoring. It would be nice if I haven’t terrified you.”

Terrified? She didn’t want to scare him? His stomach eased leaving just the warm feeling beneath his skin. He flashed her a smile that made her heart skip a beat and her stomach clench, that warm tingling feeling getting stronger. All the brooding had seemed to vanish, replaced by the light of the sun on those pretty teeth. He was… honestly attractive smiling at her, not in an Apollo, delicate beauty like the Malfoys, but a rugged handsome that she read about in the romance novels that she’d read when she’d read through her relatives’ libraries.

“Not terror. Is honor to study beside fellow warrior.” He said, “More honor beautiful girl forgive stupid boy butchering name.”

Her cheeks heated and her eyes went back to her paperwork, “Really,  it isn’t necessary for you to say such things. The table isn’t that special.”

“Table?” He asked confused. “What does table have to do with beautiful girl?”

Hermione looked at him, her wild hair pulled back behind her ears by an elastic headband but resisting all other taming in a wild kinky, curly mass around her head. She was anything, but beautiful. She fancied herself pretty sometimes, but those thoughts weren’t very prevalent in her day.

“I appreciate your niceties, but they aren’t necessary.”

“Is not nice,” Viktor said plainly, opening his bag to pull out his study material, his English to Bulgarian dictionary and a fresh quill and ink pot. “Is true.”

Hermione said nothing to the contrary but went back to the homework she was completing for one of her classes, yet unable to forget that there was someone else at her table. Pouring over a book across from her. Letting him think that she was a seventh year seemed to be going in her favor. 

He opened it and seemed to read to her surprise. She hadn’t known what to think of Viktor from the World Cup, nor what to think of him shuffling through the stacks of books under a Disillusionment charm. She’d suspected that maybe someone had directed him here, directed him to her and said to be nice and she would help him with his work--perhaps a replacement for someone else at Durmstrang. But he had yet to ask her a question, seemingly referring to the work in front of him and occasionally looking up words in his little bi-lingual dictionary. 

“You know… there is a version that may be easier for you to read here,” she said looking at him. 

He looked up in confusion, “Bulgarian?”

“There is a section of the library… I could show you if you’d like.”

Viktor shook his head, seemingly grateful and following her down the corridor to the other side of the library where the foreign language texts were. Madame Pince appeared around the corner, reshelving books and fixed her with an indulgent, yet stern air.

“Miss Granger, have you swiped  _ all  _ of my seventh-year references?”

Hermione winced, “I won’t check them out, I swear.”

She shook her head, “You wouldn’t also happen to have all the  _ French  _ translations as well.”

She ducked her head, sufficiently scolded, “Cross-referencing…?”

Madame Pince tutted, “See to it Miss Granger that students besides yourself have reference materials sometime this year should they need it, please?”

“Yes, Madame Pince.”

She sighed and headed back towards her perch to glare at noisy students coming in and perhaps scare away Viktor’s fans. Viktor looked to Hermione as she hung her head. It wasn’t as though Madame Pince didn’t mean well, but she always felt properly reprimanded whenever her secret curriculum would get in the way of Madame Pince’s job to direct students to their materials… especially since Madame Pince had no idea that she was taking a lot of Seventh Year Classes. 

“Why?” Viktor asked. “She seem… happy but frustrated?”

“I’m known for keeping a book until I’ve read it a few times,” she said looking at him and then turning to gesture to towering bookcase that held the Cyrillic section and gestured up. “Here they are.”

He looked up smiling, “Thank you. Is very kind to boy who butcher name.”

She laughed, “I’ve been called worse things.”

Viktor frowned at that but watched her wander back towards the table. He selected the books he needed for the assignment he was working on and headed back to the table. They fell into a comfortable silence again and before long there is the sound of the warning bell for dinner. She sighed and looked up, looking so very tired and so very… weary as she closed the books on the table and whispered a spell to dissolve the charm around the table. Viktor packed his bag and walked after her, hoping to have some time to speak with her further, but as it were she smiled and waved her goodbye at the opening the Great Hall to join the table that Karkaroff had all but forbidden them to sit at. 

She had to be of the house that wore Bulgaria’s colors, but were no good to Karkaroff didn’t she?

_ Prosto kusmet,*  _  he thought with a sigh before locating Petya and the rest of his trouble-making friends who would be graduating with him this year. He took a seat at the end of the table beside Petya and immediately it was apparent that they had had quite the first day in Hogwarts.

“English people are so strange,” Aleksandr said stuffing his mouth with food, speaking Russian easily and happily given that they were among their own again. “It is as if they only learn half of what we do.”

“They don’t teach Dark Magic,”’ Petya said with a wry look. “Makes me wonder how any of them remain safe.”

He looked over to where a group of girls were looking at them intensely, a little dreamily and it made him look back to his plate and eat quickly hoping to escape the constant staring, when he looked across the tables where Hermione sat, a large banner over her head that said “Sabertooth Granger” on it. He watched her, expecting her perhaps to hex them into oblivion, to do something with that fire he’d seen in her eyes that night, but she did nothing besides take her bag, stand and whirl her wand to vanquish the banner. 

She said something primly, pressing the large tome in her arms to her chest, protectively before marching out. He wondered for a moment what she was protecting, so he stood up, bidding his classmates goodbye before leaving in an attempt to catch up to her, but he saw nothing in either direction. He sighed and turned, thinking to head to the library perhaps, but with the threat of the gaggle of girls following him, he merely headed back to their docked ship, to his cabin and threw his things on the floor. It was as sparse as the room he shared with Cyrus back at Durmstrang with only the last bit of mail he’d brought with him from Bulgaria on his bed. He’d been burning the packages with underwear and suggestive letters in the ship’s boiler room, enough to make the trip go smoothly.

Little had he known that she had not made it beyond the turn leading towards the library before she cast the disillusionment charm and tucked herself silently into an alcove. She curled up tightly,  knees to chest in the alcove, staring into her knees and focusing on directing all of it out of her head, piece by piece until it just  _ felt _ better. Until she didn’t feel the itch to send that letter she’d written in her first year, begging to come home, begging never come back because it was just too… much. She’d preferred the mean girls at her muggle schools to the evils of the girls here, at least there she had her parents to come home to and a little reprieve. At Hogwarts, she lived with them, ate with them, went to class with them and their male counterparts inside and outside of her house.

_ Mudblood _ , Malfoy would sneer and then he would be right. 

She breathed deeper. She could get knocked down. She could be hurt, but she could never be defeated.  _ Never _ , in the wizarding world nor in the muggle world. Her parents had raised her to be stronger than that, stronger than anyone. And she was so very strong, she knew. So she let her body cry and her mind empty when no one could see now. She stood tall no matter how much her bag weighed, no matter how hard it was and always had a burning quip for the latest insult.She’d learned quickly in her first year that no one cared and that there were other things looming in the distance that would not care how much it hurt but would relish it. Wolves that she wouldn’t dare to feed when they already had such a feast available to them.  

For all of their strangeness, the plethora of resources they seemed to have, the wizarding world had a different type of cruelty beneath its wonder--maybe worse than the underbelly of the muggle world.

She was better, stronger, smarter than this. So she stood finally, taking a deep breath, and walking towards the library to find something that would dissipate the feeling of her emotions still fighting for the surface as she forced them away. She’d go unnoticeable until she could handle being noticed again and not a minute before. 

A book on healing charms later, she checked the time and made her way to Severus’s quarters, wiping her face and casting a glamor charm to get rid of the redness in her eyes, the puffiness, and irritation. She stood tall and drew the intricate design on the portrait leading into his private teaching spaces that he’d reserved for their lessons and his private research only.  

He didn’t seem to be there, yet she felt his presence as she set her bag down and slid out her wand, filling her head with Lavender’s nonsense and emptying her heart. She felt it and stepped aside the blast, throwing back a hex of her own and so began the lesson. How to block, how to move, how to know what your opponent would do all while keeping Severus out of her thoughts. It was the sort of dueling that was epically harder than the dueling they’d practiced in third year. She hoped that he dreamt of Lavender’s drivel for  _ months _ after this. 

When he stopped his assault, she was out of breath, still holding the memory of Lavender firm and letting it shield her thoughts even as she felt as though she would fall over unconscious as she had the first session. He’d pressed her hard, sure to throw her around as much as possible, to get her used to blocking out pain, to get her used to keeping her wits about her even as she wasn’t grounded. She was sure she’d bruise everywhere and he’d make her heal herself the way he did.

“Satisfactory, Miss Granger,” he said. “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to the spectacle you made of yourself at dinner.”

“A prank, sir,” she said from behind the blank and black affect that came with such a deep occlumency. It was almost… comfortable there. She felt nothing… Untouchable, unbreakable--unmoveable. She wasn’t Sabertooth Granger or a filthy mudblood. She wasn’t even Hermione here. 

Perhaps she was Mia? Or some other person all together that was truer than the girl who raised her hand for everything and spent hours reading.

“Nothing more.”

It was almost unnerving seeing her expression so blank. In class, she had a myriad of expressions, but he had never seen how  _ easily _ those expressions could fall away. She’d taken to emptying her mind easily… to defending it even easier. He thought perhaps that along with her highly logical nature there was a bit of something else that made it so very easy to cast off her emotions. Perhaps because her emotions were so very taxing as it were.

“Good,” Severus said. “Be sure to complete these potions as instructed on the board, Miss Granger. Then, you are free to go, be warned should you mess up, you will start again.”

Her eyes moved to the board ahead and swallowed. It was a rather complicated set of potions, ones that she’d read about but wanted to do more research before trying to attempt any of them. The instructions had been marked with extra notes meaning that these were his takes on these potions and therefore (in her experience) made infinitely better for usage but infinitely harder to make. She breathed, moved to gather everything she would need, set up her workstation and heated the row cauldrons to the desired temperatures. She made note to set the ingredients necessary for each potion in order of the directions on the board and made sure to make a note in her palm of which was which. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time that he intentionally made the words rearrange themselves on the board multiple times in order to confuse her, test her ability to keep mental track of the potion’s ingredients. If not the board, then he would move key ingredients to test her sense of the potions if she was just mindlessly following the instructions. Beneath the drivel of Lavender, the smell of their copious amounts of nail polish, hairspray, and the unerring pain that radiated across her body, she committed to crafting the potions she’d been asked to create. She ignored the limp and shocks of pain in her body as she stood at the potions table.

It took nearly five hours to finish them, between his sporadic tests of her memory, questioning her, and moving things around. She’d been nearly fooled times before when she didn’t know his tricks, but not this time. She cast a stasis charm over each of them for his inspection, head nodding from exhaustion, eyes drooping, and so much pain that it was getting harder and harder to focus. He asked her questions, ignoring the way she seemed to be ready to collapse on her feet. She heard herself answering beyond the exhaustion, an automated response as he leaned over to peer into the cauldrons, smell them and suss out any deficiencies. 

The girl never ceased to perform, he thought almost regretfully. Even in the beginning, she’d known enough to question every change she saw on the board, to stop herself from adding the wrong ingredient and quickly finding it even without her wand.  He’d learned, the hard way, that her mind was like a vault that seemed to only grow with the more that was put in it. The bit of cunning that lay under all of her intelligence had only just begun to show through while they dueled. 

He’d have to remain on his toes with her as she was catching on faster than he’d imagined she would. In reality, for all her intelligence, he thought that she didn’t have the tactical cunning to keep things a secret. Thought he would have to obliviate her and have McGonagall repossess the time turner, yet that hadn’t been the case.

“Bottle them and then you may go.”

She did as he said, careful to cork them and store them away in the storage room, clean the cauldron, put everything away and leave, limping out of the door. When Severus looked up at her leaving, he almost snorted. Miss Granger had cleaned the entire lab leaving it in a condition better than she’d walked in. It seemed that her “prank” had been more than just that and perhaps the girl had had more of an effect than he thought. Not that he would know without breaking her mind. She’d grown in leaps and bounds since becoming his secret apprentice. Her mental barriers held at a level of pressure that he hadn’t expected… Her defenses were always stronger when she’d been upset and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Given that she’d certainly been suffering greatly from their little duel, but had not even attempted to heal herself, meant that she had been rather deep into occlumency, her blank affect as she left told him that she’d more than likely reached the final stage of her training with regards to occlumency. He’d have to start teaching her the art of smoke and mirrors now rather than blunt walls of nonsense.

Perhaps she could progress to legilimency soon. He looked over to the pain potion, he’d had sitting at the end of the table for her. He’d set it there in plain sight for her, yet she hadn’t taken it. Maybe not trusting it, maybe thinking it was a test.  She took her secret apprenticeship with him so very seriously, perhaps too seriously if she thought he would really not provide some way to alleviate her pain before sending her back to her dorm room. However, if she was to be prepared, perhaps it was for the best that she think that he was completely unable to offer any sympathy.

The next day, he assigned her detention with Professor Flitwick and Madame Pomfrey rather than himself while the Slytherins in his class laughed. She’d applied several layers of healing spells but was so worn out that they had only dulled the pain. She hid it well with the weight of her bag, but he knew it was more than that… Forcing her to endure another duel so soon would have been taking it too far.

She’d only been helping Neville, instructing him on the proper method to slice Hollywort. He hadn’t forbidden it, but since it was a well-known fact that Severus hated Hermione for all of her brilliance and need to prove herself, it was the perfect action to keep Hermione from thinking he had a heart and still getting her some time to heal and continue her extra-curricular studies with other professors.

If it had been up to him, he would have been her only secret master, but Albus had been clear that Hermione needed all the training she could get if she was to protect Harry the way they’d planned. Just as well, Albus probably thought that if left alone with Severus for too long, he’d snap her mind like a twig due to his  _ obvious _ dislike of her.

He wasn’t sure what had irked him so about her being the way she was, but it wasn’t that he hated her. Wasn’t sure when he realized that beneath the appearance of an Insufferable Know-It-All had been a strength that he had not yet encountered before. Perhaps strength enough to be of use. Perhaps it was after he’d given her such a dressing down that she should have been reduced to tears, but she’d only met his eyes, turned in her parchment wrapped in her usual leather cord rather than pressed and sealed as was customary. She had closed her mouth, much like she was doing now, brown eyes steady and meeting his own eyes. 

By Merlin’s beard, she reminded him of Lily...and perhaps that had at once burned him and made his respect for her and need to push greater.  They were not similar in countenance in the slightest, not a stitch of them similar physically or in their spellwork, but in sheer strength and demeanor. The way she carried herself even in the face of absolute humiliation…

Yes, he remember that first year. It had been as if Lily had come into his classroom, defiant and brilliant and raised her hand to remind him at every turn that she was dead and he was partially to blame. Severus pulled himself from those thoughts and watched Hermione march by a group of chatting girls, giggling and laughing at her as she passed.  The course of a spell that made her already wild hair even wilder, growing in wild curls and frizzing more was a bright and vibrant green. She could have dodged it, let it hit some trembling Slytherin first year who looked just as frightened of the girls as Hermione had probably felt in her first year, but she’d taken it. Hermione stopped, turned to them as they sneered the first year frozen behind her as Hermione’s hair finally stopped growing several inches longer and bigger, pushing at the stretch of the band on her head.

“What Granger?”

Hermione took a breath, pulled out her wand and waved it, effectively lengthening the girls’ skirts to their proper length before turning to the first year.

“Are you lost?” She asked kindly.

The girl nodded shakily, “Where are you headed?”

“P-Professor Sprouts…”

She smiled and nodded, tugging the girl along, “Come on then, I’ll take you there.”

“But… I’m in Slytherin.”

Hermione shrugged, “And I’m an upperclassman. Come on.”

She looked a little wary, but let Hermione guide her down the hall in the direction of the Greenhouse. Severus had been waiting to find Hermione’s snapping point, her weakness, and to push her there so that she would know, to see what would happen--if she could be trusted with higher levels of magic despite her age. If she could overcome her weaknesses or break. He needed to know her maturity, yet he had not seen it yet. 

He’d thought berating her in public, shame and humiliation would do it. While her eyes seemed to gloss over with tears, she had not snapped, nor broken. Pain had not done it...Yet there seemed to be this social issue, the issue of her social environment that did not suit her that may have held answers.

A muggle-born, so intellectually beyond her class, yet finding it harder with every step she made forward to fit in…

He swallowed thickly, seeing a pale dark haired student walk alone down the corridor, an echo of Hermione.

Himself. Though where he had found refuge in the dark arts, she seemed to find it books and pouring kindness over those that needed it. She was strong. 

Perhaps stronger than he was now. 

“You should thank Miss Granger,” Severus said. “She could have your house 100 points for uniform modification… As it stands, your stunts have leveled 200 points against Hufflepuff.”

Their jaws dropped. 

“A piece,” he walked on not missing the way the girls glowered and looked down to their skirts, properly scolded as he moved on, heading back to his classroom for the next session. It wasn’t far from the greenhouse, so he arrived just as Hermione was heading away from the greenhouse and students were filing into the classroom. Hermione nodded in acknowledgment.

“Professor,” she greeted and walked on as he walked into the classroom.

Hermione stopped off in the bathroom to glower at her reflection. As if she didn’t have enough problems curtailing her hair… now it was longer, curlier and she had only a few minutes to get to her next class. She shook her head pulling a scrunchy from the unfathomable depths of her bag and trying to twist it together and secure it at the end. It would be the best she could do considering besides stopping the spell from getting any worse. 

Ancient Runes was as fascinating as ever, their new assignment more advanced than anything they’d tried before. It was probably the best thing for having to assemble in the Great Hall for the pulling of names from the Goblet of Fire. 

The room was cast over with blue and she carried her book towards the usual spot where the rest of the Gryffindors were watching people walk up to put their names in the cup. Cedric and countless others. 

“There’s got to be a way to get his autograph,” Ron said looking over. “But I can’t just walk up to him and ask him for it.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “I’m sure he’s used to it.”

Ron groaned, “Like a complete git…”

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her reading as George and Fred came in with their newest scheme to thwart the system: an aging potion. She shook her head and told them that it wouldn’t work, but as usual, the twins weren’t interested in logic. They took the potion, jumped into the line and put their names in the cup. A few moments later a burst of blue flame knocked them out of the Age circle and activated their aging potions to turn them into two old gray squabbling twins rolling around on the ground as the crowd cheered for a fight.

She didn’t bother to look, focusing on the next chapter in her book before the doors opened. Viktor came in, trailing by Kakaroff and a few other Durmstrang students. The room fell quiet as he walked up to the cup. She looked up at what could have caused it and saw him not so much graceful as gliding with an athletic purpose though his sport of choice had nothing to do with the ground. She watched him a little curious, putting his name in the goblet before looking at her. It’s a brief moment in which her lips twitch to offer him a small smile of recognition. He only gives her his eyes for a moment before turning back towards the Durmstrang area where they chatted and welcomed him back into the fold. 

She turned her attention back to her book as Ron and Harry discussed the strategy of getting Viktor’s autograph. She wonders why they don’t think to just  _ ask _ him, but then again, she isn’t a boy. 

When Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor’s names come out, she isn’t surprised even if he looks at her curiously, then to Cedric. When Harry’s name comes out, she looked at Severus, then McGonagall, to Dumbledore, meeting each of their eyes, before looking at Harry who looks pale as a ghost. She knows then that and hope of a peaceful year just went up in flames. 

Her eyes seek out Dumbledore, but he seems shocked as well. They get Harry and the rest of the champions into a room and because Harry is so very open, she can hear the way Dumbledore asks him, the panic and feels the panic in Harry because he didn’t put his name in the goblet. He had avoided the cup like the plague happy to watch the spectacle for a change rather than be in the middle of danger. 

She was sure that Albus wouldn’t attempt occlumency on Harry, but it didn’t matter. They all knew what it was. Someone had not only modified the goblet’s spell to draw four names but had modified it so that Harry’s name was one of those four--no matter what.

“How did he put his name in the Cup?” Severus asked her as she walked into his chambers. “More importantly, how was he able to trick the Goblet of fire into selecting four?”

“Harry didn’t do it,” she said honestly. “He’s terrified, more importantly, he’s avoided the goblet like the plague--”

“We shall see,” Severus said. “The sight of you sickens me, get out. Finish the book I gave you and be prepared for a harsh lesson tomorrow.”

She let out a breath and turned, walking quickly from the room and straight to Gryffindor tower where Harry sat alone in the Common Room. He looked up at her at a loss, his hands shaking. He looked up at her startled as she came to side. 

“Hermione, I didn’t do it.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “You don’t have a death wish.”

Harry blinked at her but all at once his shoulders slumped and he let out a breath, “At least someone believes me. Ron won’t even talk to me… let alone anyone else.”

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder and produced a piece of chocolate from her robe. 

“I hear from Ginny it would solve almost anything,” Hermione said almost comfortingly.

Harry sighed, “Except that someone wants to kill me.”

“Harry, to be frank, someone always wants to kill you.”

He laughed in spite of himself, taking comfort in the way she slung an arm around his shoulder and squeezed, “We’ll get through this.”

“We?” Harry looked at her.

“Of course we,” Hermione said. “I’ve invested a great deal of time into this friendship, you think I’d let you get killed because someone else wants you dead?”

Harry smiled, “Thanks ‘Mione… think I’m going to head to bed. No sense in making this night any worse.”

“You should write to him,” Hermione said watching him walk towards the stairs that led up towards the boys’ side. “Tell him, he may have something to say.”

Harry nodded shakily and waved her goodnight, leaving her to look into the fire alone. She opened the book she’d picked up on Wizarding competitions. The Triwizard competition, the cup… It would have taken some very advanced magic to manipulate the aging line or at the very least the goblet itself. Perhaps… Harry’s name had been placed in the goblet before arriving at Hogwarts, manipulated before its arrival by someone involved with the Ministry. 

She swallowed, closing the book and heading up the stairs, careful cast the silencing charm around her bed, draw the curtains. Though they could not hear her… she could hear them. Chatting about Harry, about the spell they’d placed on her hair earlier that day. About the fact that Viktor had been seen heading to the library fairly often and sat alone. The next day, she came back to her room decidedly limping, but not missing the way Lavender giggles, holding a quill that was not made in England. 

“Maggie from Ravenclaw swiped it while he was gone to get a book, his inkpot too…”

Hermione shook her head, too tired to rebuke them, but climbed into bed and fell into such a deep sleep she nearly woke up late the next morning. When she headed to the library, to trade books, she sees Viktor at the table she usually had looking at a loss. He looked under the table and around before standing and regarding the books he’d set on his desk with a suspicion. His bag missing and in general, he seemed to be without the things he usually carried with him. 

It was odd to see the least and only became odder at the piece of lace peeking out of the book on the top. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked a little wary.

He looked at her, glowering and scowling at his table, “I… seem to have been pillaged.”

Hermione smiled, “Your quills?”

“And notes. Parchment, bag…” he sighed sitting down. “I can not understand.”

Hermione nodded, drawing her wand out and casting a glance around before swiping through the air, exact in sharp movements and silent. All at once, scrolls of parchment, his missing notes and the half-finished essay there along with his quills and ink pots along with a few other things that had been going missing over the last two days of being alone in the library. His bag clattered on the table on top of the rest of his things along with the handkerchief he’d had a sneaking suspicion hadn’t been lost in the corridor. 

It’s a little humorous at how much stuff came falling onto the table, a shirt, and a pair of pants along with them. His jaw dropped and his cheek turned red at the scent of his things splashed in perfume or bodies having rubbed on them, his new, thankfully blank, the playbook for the Vultures among other things.

He looked up at her in awe and horror as she smiled and pat his shoulder, “Just don’t leave your things unattended.”

“Thank you,” he said with a sigh of relief. “Is… hard to keep redo essay.”

Hermione gave him an amused look, glancing towards the pile of things as he began hurriedly stuffing his clothes into his bag, shrinking them as he did. The blush still hot on his cheeks--she was pretty sure there were several pairs of underwear in the pile as well. 

What a terrible thing to have your laundry stolen.

“Very. Good luck, Viktor.”

She headed towards the section of books she was looking forward and pull them free before carrying them back up to Madame Pince. Viktor watched her and smiled at the returned pages with a sigh, putting the things inside his bag before transferring the words to the mostly finished essay page and completing his edits. He takes her words to heart, though there are groups of girls that still follow him around and giggle around the aisles of books, nothing else goes missing. 

Instead, the stacks of books he leaves when he goes to look for another one have his scraps of parchment bookmarks replaced with lace and satin underwear. After having someone’s knickers thrown at him from above and being flashed at some point that day, he was just too tired to get angry. Instead, he abandoned his attempt at studying at the library, upending the underwear on to the table and carrying the freed books to Madame Pince’s desk to check out.

“Hello Mr. Krum, leaving so soon?” She asked.

“Can not study with girls throwing… garments at me,” he said with a sigh, signing his name on the list for each of his books and dating it. “Nor stealing my things.”

She frowned, “Perhaps next time I will have something to help with that.”

“Would be nice, thank you, Madame Pince.”

“On one condition, Mr. Krum.”

He looked up at the older woman. 

“Hermione Granger is a sweet girl,” she said. “Undeserving of the torment she receives. Should she undergo any such treatment, or your fascination with her prove to be detrimental, note that rather than underwear being thrown at you and your things stolen, you may be eaten alive by books. Do I make myself clear?”

He thought for a moment on her words, trying to figure out what exactly she was saying, some of the words struggling for meaning in his mind, but he gets there and smiled. Protection, care...

“Hermi-own-nee, have no fear of me. Not fleeting interest, but real. Would never hurt beautiful girl who forgive stupid boy for butchering name.”

She regarded him for a moment, but eventually nodded and told him to go on about his day.

The next time Hermione sees Viktor in the library, there’s a protective charm around the table he’s sitting at-- clearly, he’d either pleaded with Madam Pince for sanctuary or had taken to simply casting charms himself.  It didn’t make him invisible, but it kept people from stealing his things or slipping underwear into his books. Viktor is there alone, pouring over Cyrillic texts, flinching at the giggling behind him and his head in his hand trying to focus on the pages before him to no avail. Madame Pince was on the other side of the library, too far to help with the silence.

“I see this is going to be a thing.”

Viktor looked up giving her a bright smile, “Miss, is good to see you. I was surprised. You not compete?”

Hermione shrugged and stepped through his protection charm to sit down across from him, “Eternal fame and glory isn’t exactly what drives me. What are you working on?”

“Kakaroff give project,” Viktor said. “Finished, but need to...lose time to avoid silly girls. Too loud to focus.”

Hermione nodded and set her books on the table, her parchment then pulled out her wand to add a silencing charm around them and a stronger privacy charm to make them unnoticeable, “Killing time in the library… not a bad place. Madame Pince must have taken a liking to you.”

“She… very kind. Say not hurt feelings and she help keep silly girls away vhile study. She tell me how to protect things and keep them away, but not quiet. Thank you.”

Hermione tilted her head, “Hurt whose feelings?”

“Yours.”

Hermione cleared her throat at that and opened her books, pulled out her parchment.

“You are… friends with Harry Potter, yes?” Hermione nodded, “He have great enemy to put name in goblet, yes?”

“You… don’t think he did it?”

Viktor nodded “He… seem to go white like ghost when name called. Do not think he put name in Goblet...he also seem not happy while wand weighing. Scared.”

Viktor frowned. Scared didn’t seem to cover the look on Harry’s face. Something like dread and...

“Terror,” he said, finally. 

Harry had been terrified. 

Hermione sighed shaking her head, “It is not the best of situations.”

“You change hair,” Viktor said, his eyes on the curly, wild mass that was decidedly bigger than the last time they had sat together.

Hermione looked up and winced, “It’s… a hex.”

He frowned, “Why? Not nice to hex in school.”

“Let’s just say I’m no one’s real favorite.”

“Could be… my favorite?” Viktor said tentatively, his cheeks turning pink a bit. “Have not met girl like you before. Quickly my favorite English girl.”

She laughed not even thinking to shy away from flashing her teeth. Eventually, it dies down and she can’t help but give him a full teeth smile.

“You are more beautiful when smile,” Viktor said appreciatively. “Almost as beautiful as warrior face.”

She blinked, closing her mouth and clearing her throat, looking back to her books and glancing across the table at him as he seemed to turn back to his books as well. She looked to her watch and bit her lip. 

“I have to get to class, but… perhaps when we have time I could bother you for a translation?”

He looked at her. 

“It’s just,” she said a little unsure. “This is a translation from a Cyrillic text and I usually like to compare for accuracy, but I can’t read Cyrillic anything. If it isn’t much trouble, I know you have the Tournament and classes to prepare for...”

Not to mention fame. 

Viktor smiled nodding, “You read French, yes?”

Hermione nodded and he held up a book, “Eye for eye?”

She winced, “Fair trade for sure… maybe not an eye for an eye.”

He said something low in Bulgarian before looking up at her, “Sorry. Is hard to get sayings in English. Fair trade, then.”

She nodded, “Sounds good. If… I’m not here around this time then sometimes I go to the tower on the west side of the castle to practice...”

“I will find,” he said. “Thank you.”

She nodded and waved her goodbye walking out of the enchanted bubble and towards the front door. 

“Miss Granger.”

She looked up to Madam Pince expectantly. 

“No books today?”

She shook her head, “Not today Madame Pince… I think I’m lugging around enough books for now.”

She eyed her bag, ladened with strengthening charms to carry all of the books she liked to have on her. Hermione bade her goodbye and headed outside. Shortly after, Viktor headed out, bowing his thanks and goodbye to the librarian to get to class. 


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this the breaking point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post. My computer would not cooperate.

Hermione isn’t sure what happens, but she knows the end result. There was arguing, then Harry and Draco dueling. She’d moved out of the way and honestly, she could have deflected it, but to do so would raise one too many red flags. She felt the hex push her back and into a tree. The world swam for a moment and then she felt the tingling in her gums as she fell to the ground wincing. 

“Hermione… are you-- your teeth…”

She looked at Ron then reached up feeling her teeth lengthening more than usual until she fumbled for her wand. 

“ _ Finite Incantartem. _ ” 

They stopped and sure they weren’t as long as they could have been, but they were long enough for it to be impossible to cover them with her lips. 

“What is going on here?” She heard Severus ask as he stepped into the clearing where Hagrid was still holding Harry and Draco apart from one another. 

The other students seemed to be laughing with their magicked Buttons supporting Cedric and downing Harry-- the start of the whole ordeal. 

Severus looked at Goyle who’d also been hit and shook his head, “To the infirmary with you, Goyle. As for you, Miss Granger,  there doesn’t seem to be anything out of sorts with you.”

It isn’t his words because Severus would never take feelings into consideration. It’s the peel of laughter growing louder.  _ Sabertooth Granger _ , it feels like the playground when she was just eight all over again. Then, it had been a playground, her face covered in sand and dirt in her hair.  Laughing spinning around her and she felt her eyes burning even as she stood, head down, the need to get away the knowledge that she could apparate anywhere at the moment, hex them all a million times over, filling her, even as she struggled to put up her walls.

_ Think of Harry,  _ there was a reason she was training, she had to keep this knowledge for the right time. That made her walls stronger catching Severus before he could find her weak points. She turned, rushing back towards the castle, covering her mouth and running. 

Severus only half listened to Ron and Harry’s indignant screaming about exactly how cruel he was to her. He was impressed, even as he deducted points from Gryffindor for Harry and Ron’s outburst, and sentenced them to detention with him. She had done nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to raise a flag of suspicion, she seemed to have more control that he ever gave her credit for. Not to mention she had managed to build her defenses fairly well. He still smelled nail polish and shuddered at the frightful mess of their side of the dormitory.

Viktor exited class, shoving Aleksandr for his insolence before the sound of running footsteps caught his ear. They turned seeing a girl with her bag flying out behind her, heavy with books, streaking across the courtyard, one hand over her mouth, wild curly hair flying out behind her.

“She’s fast,” Petya commented. 

_ Hermione _ , he thought, watching her, trying to figure out what exactly she was running from or to, but as she pulled out her wand, swinging around the corner, tapped her head and vanished, he had a feeling that she wasn’t running for sport, but to hide. 

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he said running off in the direction that she’d been heading and considering where she would go. The library was out of the question, not the tower either…

He frowned and thought for a moment. She was disillusioned… unnoticed.  Sad, hurt... He listened hearing something to his left and fired a quick canceling spell. He heard her then, saw her as the enchantment melted away. Soft sobbing smothered between her arms and knees, curled into an alcove. He swallowed walking towards her and hearing his friends come up behind them as he kneeled in front of her. 

“Miss? Hermi-own?”

She looked up, just her eyes to see him, red with tears and frustration. 

“Could help take you elsewhere … if you want?”

She sniffled and looked at him a little wary as he offered her his hand. 

“Don’t look,” she said, muffled a bit but he understood, careful to pull Petya’s scarf off the other's bag as they stood behind him and offer it to her.

She reached out tentatively, wrapping it around her head quickly before taking his hand. Antonio lifted her bag from her shoulder and between the four of them kept her shielded from sight on all sides, while walking her towards the Infirmary. She stepped behind a curtain with Madame Pomfrey who let out a frustrated sigh.

“My dear, how do you always seem to attract such trouble? Tell me when.”

Antonio nudged Viktor, drawing his attention and forcing him outside the Infirmary door with the three of them. 

“Is that the girl from the World Cup?” Antonio asked--his slick Greek tongue a perfect match for his sly grin.

Viktor only shook his head. 

“She is not competing? Shame.”

“Very,” Viktor nodded looking back. “I have a feeling that she is not… favored here.”

“Fools.”

“Can we take her back to Durmstrang with us?” Petya asked with a grin. “She would be much favored there.”

Viktor shoved him, “Do not be a fool.”

They turned to see her with Petya’s scarf draped over her arm, looking towards the floor, her hair as wild as ever but her eyes were grateful and cold.

“Thank you,” she said before looking up. “For helping me.”

“ Nyama nuzhda ot blagodarnosti,” Aleksandr said with a mischievous grin. “Donosnik na Viktor.”

Viktor’s face burned red and he shoved Aleksandr as Hermione looked between the group.

“Do not listen to foolish comrades,” Viktor said glaring at them before turning a kind gaze to Hermione. “Are you alright?”

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath and offering the scarf back to Petya, “I will be. Thank you… Petya, right?”

He grinned, “She knows name! Must be popular.”

“Infamous,” Viktor grumbled as Petya took his scarf back. “This is Petya, Aleksandr, and Antonio. Do not be fooled by smiles, they are… trouble.”

Antonio grinned, kissing Hermione’s hand with a wink, “Good trouble, Miss Hermione.”

Viktor scowled at him as Antonio laughed and Hermione offered a closed mouth smile. 

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” she said. “Thank you for helping me. It… is a rare relief.”

“You have comrade who do not help you?” Aleksandr asked. “They are not worthy of station.”

Hermione gave them a wry smile, “It’s complicated.”

“Not complicated,” he said. “Friendship should be even.Viktor is a celebrity, but he never lets friends be hurt and he rarely has time to do more than shuffle quickly through the halls.”

Antonio laughed as Viktor blushed, “Sasha, I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” he said easily. “It is just so rare to be able to tease you.”

“We will see how you feel on pitch.”

Aleksandr paled and then it was Hermione’s turn to laugh.

“Come, we escort you to dinner, yes?”

Petya offered his arm to her and Aleksandr offered his arm on the other side, effectively taking command and careful to lead her down the hall towards the Great Hall between the two. Viktor shook his head watching her between the two of them, Antonio walking backward to speak with her. A Durmstrang escort on all sides was, apparently, enough to lift her mood considerably. 

They stood in the doorway of the Great Hall and bid their goodbyes with a kiss to her hand, each of them in turn, a wink sometimes, but always a smile before watching over her walk to the Gryffindor table and take her usual seat with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. 

“Are you okay?” Ginny asked. “Harry told me about what happened.”

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, taking a breath and reaching for food at the table. She looked up to find one of Viktor’s friends shoving him playfully, talking animatedly about something, yet Viktor’s eyes always seemed to drift to her. She didn’t let herself think about it much, moving instead to eat as quickly as possible and escape the Great Hall before yet another catastrophe happened besides Ron’s usual immaturity.

Somehow, it worked and she was hauling her bag onto her shoulder, ladened with strengthening charms though it was just a muggle school bag and clutching a large tome to her chest to head out of the room. 

“You will go to her?” Aleksandr said, drawing Viktor’s attention, the familiarity of his language rolling around, yet he had not been paying attention either way.

“What?” 

“Are. You. Going. To. Go. To. Her?” Petya sounded out slowly. 

Viktor looked at him strangely then back towards where she’d left and shook his head. 

“Not now, tomorrow.”

Antonio’s jaw dropped, “You are interested in a girl? Truly?”

“Shut up Antonio,” he said shoving his hat further down on his head. “Just because you seem to hop from girl to girl does not mean the rest of us should.”

“Probably not the best for your health,” Petya said with a nod. “We all know more news of you makes your blood pressure rise dangerously.”

He glowered at Petya and stood, “It’s been charming, but I have work to do.”

Aleksandr rolled his eyes in a way that Viktor knew was teasing, but said nothing heading towards the library, despite the group of giggling that followed him. He took a left, then a right and slipped through the enchanted circle so they could not see him and let out a relieved breath. 

“Perhaps you should just disillusion yourself all the time,” her voice came distractedly from behind him and he turned. She was reading her book in French. “Would be a bit easier.”

He couldn’t help himself, smiling gratefully at seeing her a small paper fairy fluttering around her head. He wanted to ask about what happened earlier, but seeing her in a significantly brighter mood quieted his question. He would ask some other time, for now, he would make her forget.

“Hello,” he said setting his books down. “What do you study today?”

“Transfiguration,” she said easily. “You?”

“Same,” he replied. “Essay to write, hard to find reference.”

Hermione nodded in understanding and winced looking to the stack of books on her table as it was quite possible that the book he was looking for was, in some form, in the stack. 

“But I find book, thanks to you,” he said pulling out the Cyrillic version of the French book she had opened. “Some of the translation not make much sense, could help? I not read French language.”

Hermione nodded tentatively as he opened the book and she marveled at the letters, wishing she knew what they said. She spoke French, German, English and a lick of Spanish, but she had never managed to go much further East than that. He flipped to the page he’d been looking at, the section on the theory of the length of time transfiguration could hold. 

“They write section on nature very strange, nature law but not truth or will mentioned.”

She nodded, saving the page she was on to flip back to the section he was looking at skimming the passage. 

“The original says, more or less, that the strength of the person’s will dictates how long an unnatural transfiguration will hold…. In the case of human transfiguration,...”

He listened to her nodding, following along and trying to match the words in the text for a better understanding as she translated the original for him. 

“Note say that the unknown plays part in difficulty…but not explain how or why.I thought maybe because of magic strength, but not sure.”

Hermione tilted her head listening to him step through his thought process and smiled, closed mouth, listening. It feels a bit like speaking with Professor McGonagall before attempting some incredibly difficult task… a bit like before when she’d started her animagus training. She had yet to find her form, or transform at all, but the meditations helped ease her mind after a difficult day at class. McGongagall suggested that it was because she was not quite sure of who she was, so her inner self could not emerge fully either.

Hermione had done her best not to be worried about that insight and instead told Viktor that similar to an animagus transformation, it requires a great deal of will to transfigure something too far away from its natural form, what the magical world considers a “natural form” was something she couldn’t answer. 

They talked for a great deal longer, comparing translations and the English one, taking notes on the subject and hypothesizing about the unknown factor that professors insisted existed. They’d hit a stride that was hard to explain when the warning bell rang and she jumped up, shoving her things in her bag. 

“I’m sorry, I’m running late for detention if I run fast enough perhaps I’ll make it.”

Viktor shook his head, “Thank you for your help. Perhaps try fast charm.”

She frowned and her eyes widened, “Viktor, you’re brilliant. Thank you!”

She went rushing off then, her wand out and murmuring a disillusionment and accelerant charm to last for exactly one minute allowing her to run to the dungeons with plenty of time to clean herself up, undo the charm and breathe easy.

She walked in and felt the pressure immediately, her walls up and deflecting his blasts with a focus she hadn’t realized she’d had. Perhaps it was because she’d been so unburdened the last few hours, perhaps because she’d emptied herself of everything before the Durmstrang boys had found her. Whatever it was, it kept Snape out of her mind, his spells at bay and afforded her a peak into a memory. 

There was a girl with near red auburn hair and eyes like Harry’s laying the grass beside her, Severus as a child… it was a warm memory, a peaceful memory and when he’d forced her from his mind with a blast that may have injured her if she hadn't coated her clothes with protective spells, she’d skidded across the floor and still managed to disarm him with a silent Expelliarmus. 

His wand fell to the floor and he looked at her as she struggled to her feet, the force of his blast making her wince in pain, but she’d done it. Waiting for him to do something, to sneer, but he seemed honestly stunned before stepping back behind his mask and telling her that she was free to go for the night. 

She didn’t question it, but left the room, walking quickly. The woman she’d seen had to have been Lily Evans… Harry’s mother. They’d known each other as children… Severus had loved her...There were so many questions, but none would be answered for quite some time it would seem. Either way, she got back to Gryffindor tower with a grin, climbing onto her bed, feeling quite pleased with herself no matter how much she ached. She glowered at the bulk of her hair but didn’t think about it more than it took to bind it enough to sleep on. She crawled into bed somehow without her usual silencing charms, almost… happy she dared to say. 

*

“Severus,” Albus greeted as he walked into the Headmaster’s office. “How goes things with Miss Granger?”

“She… is coming along more quickly than I expected…”

Albus looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“She took a full blast tonight yet still managed to keep me out and disarm me.”

Albus nodded, “She will be quite the asset in the days ahead, will she not?”

“Perhaps….” Severus said reservedly. “I do not believe we should put our faith in her, however, she is… a troubled girl.”

Albus looked at him, “Troubled?”

“She is just a girl, dealing with girl issues as well as this...Though handling them well, the teenage psyche can only take so much.”

Albus nodded, “I will take that under consideration… perhaps you should as well.”

Severus glowered at him before leaving the room and heading back to his room. It would be a test of Hermione’s patience, her will, and her ability to forgo herself to see how she reacted to getting into Severus’ mind. He’d slipped seeing her flying across the room and wondering if he may have killed her. It had cost him his wand and a memory of lying beside Lily on a warm summer day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyama nuzhda ot blagodarnosti = No need for thanks  
> Donosnik na Viktor = Viktor's Snitch


	6. Transfiguration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor talks about Cyrus

“You must relax, Miss Granger,” Minerva told her. “It is not something that can be forced.”

Hermione took another breath trying to empty her mind. It was different than Occlumency. Severus told her to fill her mind with meaningless things as a shield while keeping the rest of her thoughts secret. Emptying it of all the books and secrets… the lies and half-truths…

The… the…

Minerva jumped back in shock seeing her sink deeper and the tell-tale shaking on her skin as it began to change and mold. It would not be wings, nor fur but…

_ Scales, maybe? _ Minerva wondered, watching with interest as it continued to take shape before it fizzled out leaving Hermione just as herself again with the chiming of the dinner bell. 

She sighed and looked up. 

“You have gotten very far Miss Granger,” Minerva said with a kind smile. “You should hurry along to dinner. There is no need to train on an empty stomach.”

Hermione looked up at her and stood from the floor, thanking her before grabbing her bag and heading out the door. 

Minerva pondered for just a moment. It was not necessarily unheard of for people to transform into magical creatures, but it was something of a rarity. She would have to tell Albus about this… or perhaps wait until Hermione had managed to complete the transformation to be sure.

Hermione tried not to be frustrated. She tried. With everything else that seemed to be going wrong, she’d hoped that this would be something that would go at least half as smooth. It seemed like that wouldn’t happen. At least it was Friday, the weekend ahead meant getting work done and trying to convince Harry to prepare a little better than he had. At the very least, he and Ron weren't at each other's necks any longer. She thought that would have lifted his spirits considerably, but if anything he seemed to be more interested in pretending that the tournament wasn't his problem.

“I don't want to think about it , Hermione.”

She wanted to tell him to forget what he didn't want to think about it, because whoever put his name in surely didn't care, but she shut her mouth and read for him, shorthand notes for him to look over at the last minute she was sure.

Dinner passed over rather easily with Viktor leaving the table long before dinner was over and Hermione leaving just after. She had come to expect to see Viktor at her table as of late and rather than the almost awkward greeting, they spoke easily.

“Professor say essay was best in class,” he told her with a grin. “I bring gift in thank you for your help.”

She was about to tell him that it wasn't necessary, no one ever thanked her for things like this but he held the small book out to her with an earnest expression.

“Please have?”

She seemed speechless, her warm brown hands accepting the book tentatively before reading the cover.

“Is translation of old Romanian text on spell making. I have friend make translation notes inside...I thought you may like?”

She swallowed thickly, pulling it close to her chest. No one had really ever given her a gift in thanks before.

“Thank you, Viktor...It's very sweet.”

He smiled and then tilted his head, “You...are not accustomed to gifts…”

She shook her head, “No. I'm not.”

Viktor sat back, puzzled and nodded, “English boys strange.”

She chuckled, “Why do you say that?”

“Not give gifts to beautiful smart girl? Strange.”

“You have a very unique concept of beauty, Viktor,” she said, not setting the book down, stroking her hand over the cover in wonder. 

Harry was the only one that had given her wizarding books. They always traded books since it was really the only thing she could afford to give and it was the only thing she ever wanted. Ron had always been terrible at giving gifts so she never bothered to be angry about the painfully sexist gifts he came up with-- perfume, nail polish and a whole host of other rubbish that she gave away to anyone who wanted it.

“I hear weekend start tomorrow, you have plans?”

“Some,” she said thoughtfully. “We’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade when classes are out of session…”

“Hogsmeade…” he mulled over, rolling the sound over his tongue. “I have heard of. Place with sweets, yes?”

She nodded, “And a number of other things.”

“You have plans with friends? Harry Potter and red haired boy?”

She offered him only a quick of her lips, “Not really. They have plans and I usually just tag along.”

At least when she was invited...Ron told her that they would meet at the entrance of Hogsmeade, but not much more. She assumed it would end like most of their trips to Hogsmeade: Honeydukes, the Spintwitches and The Three Broomsticks. They'd keep her from the bookstore and try to get her to go somewhere with Ginny...who was also heading to the Snitch for more broom polish.

“You could come with us,” VIktor said. “No need to tag. We do things we all like...but mostly get lost in Hogsmeade.”

Hermione let out a bark of laughter, “I’m sure I--”

“Hermione!” Ron called in a panic. 

She turned, taking down the privacy charm so he could find them, which he thought curious considering she and Ron seemed to have nothing in common. 

“Bloody hell, Hermione, where have you been? You were supposed to help me with our Potions essay.”

Viktor frowned looking between the two of them. 

“I don’t remember saying that I would,” Hermione said. “I also don’t remember you asking me. Where’s Harry?”

“He’s...That’s not important. It’s due tomorrow and I have no idea where to start.”

“Have you at least read the chapter, Ron?”

He shuffled his feet and Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in a movement that Severus would have been proud of before giving Viktor and apologetic glance. 

“Why don’t you start with reading the chapter?”

His jaw dropped, “But can’t I just read your notes? Make a copy of them? That chapter will take  _ ages _ !”

Hermione glowered at him, “No, you cannot just read my notes, perhaps if you weren’t so busy being angry with Harry you would have had time to pay attention in class. Or read the chapter.”

He huffed stomping away, grumbling, “ _ Bloody bushy haired know it all… _ ”

Viktor rose to stand, his eyes too fierce to be well meaning for Ron’s constitution, “You will apologize.”

“He can’t hear you,” Hermione said looking at him. He looked at her. 

“I only moved the enchantment off my side of the table,” she said, flicking her wand to return it to its proper shape.

“Why do you let him speak with you that way? Very rude.”

Hermione shook her head, “He just has a temper when he’s stressed.”

“At Durmstrang, we break legs for such dishonor.”

Hermione winced, “That’s a bit extreme.”

“You do not treat friend that way. You do not yell at women-- is disgrace.”

She cleared her throat and opened her book back up, “He won’t be back for a while...Where were we …  _ Charms, right _ ....”

“‘Mione!”

She sighed and shifted the ward to turn, seeing Harry round the corner. 

“There you are, was wondering where you got off to. Are you alright?”

“Never better, Harry,” she said. “Well… I would be better if the droves of giggling girls would go away.”

Harry shrugged, “Viktor Krum is here in the castle...they say he’s been spending a lot of time in the library.”

Her lips twitched and Viktor watched carefully. The interaction between her and Harry was significantly different than that with Ron. He decided that he liked the Boy Who Lived a lot more than the red haired boy. 

Harry bade her goodbye after she told him that she probably wouldn’t be back until just before curfew, so don’t wait up and tell Ginny not to either.

She turned back to Viktor and addressed him, “Sorry. I seem to be… rather popular tonight.”

Viktor shook his head, “Very popular.”

He tensed hearing the familiar pattern of girls walking by and seemed to pale at the thought of them seeing him, instinctually shoving his face in the largest book on the table. She found it hilarious. 

“Are you afraid of your fans, Viktor?”

“Not usually. English fans scary,” he said over the top of his book, whispering as they passed.

“They can’t hear you, Viktor,” Hermione said easily.

“Is… habit,” he said. “I spend lot of time how do you say hiding swiftly in shadows, only learned disillusionment charm recently.”

“I’m sure that’s made your life easier.”

“Except when in uniform, much easier.”

Hermione nodded in understand and they worked quietly, sharing notes and information across the table until the next hour struck and she had to get going to Professor Flitwick’s classroom for her session with him. 

“Is fun,” Viktor said. “We study together again soon, yes?”

Hermione nodded, “I’d like that. Have a goodnight Viktor. Don’t let your fans get you.”

“Will fly away if possible.”

She laughed, “Yes, since you are more an artist on a broom than an athlete.”

Viktor frowned, “You like Quidditch?”

“Well enough,” she said. “But I am friends with several fanatics. Ron is actually a huge fan of yours.”

“I am not fan of him,” he said resolutely. “I could walk with you if you like.”

She shook her head, “No need. It isn’t far and no telling who is lurking about. Thank you for the offer though.”

Before he could protest, she’d vanished, disillusioned and walked out of the library unseen. He huffed regarding his book. He would have to try harder. Though it was a relief that she was not a fan of his Quidditch persona, nor the game, that did leave him wondering how he was going to get close enough to her that asking her to the Yule Ball would not be such a shock.

*

Hermione exited Professor Flitwick’s classroom with a deep sigh before heading back to the Gryffindor tower. She cracked open the book Viktor had given her with interest and began to read. She’d read a few books on spell making but they were all ancient and English. This, while a translation, was of Romanian origin and no doubt had a very different view of spellwork. The neat cursive calling out translation discrepancies and adding to the translation footnotes.

She made it through the portrait without tripping and up the stairs with her nose in the book. When she came in Lavender and Parvati were painting their nails while Ginny looked up at her.

“New book?” Ginny asked.

“Yes, a thank you gift, and rather interesting. How has your day been?”

Ginny shrugged. She couldn’t complain with the exception of her brother being a total git, but before she could open her mouth to ask about the giver of the gift Lavender and Parvati were pouncing on Hermione’s bed effectively interrupting the interrogation.

“What’s this I hear about Viktor Krum in the library? Surely you must have seen him?”

“No one knows where he sits. We know you know.You spend enough time there.”

Hermione looked between the two a little dumbfounded, “Are you two… fans of his perhaps?”

She was pretty sure that neither of them liked Quidditch. And there were books in the library for Hermione not boys. She doubted that even in their limited understanding of studying that the two sounded even remotely similar.

They rolled their eyes, “Of course not! Quidditch, I don’t understand, but he is famous and with fame comes wealth, so spit it out, Granger.”

“I don’t see him,” Hermione said easily returning to her book. “He must study in a different section.”

Lavender rolled her eyes, “Probably off put by all that hair. Don’t you ever comb it?”

Hermione closed the book over her finger, “If you are quite done insulting me on my own bed, please return to your own.”

They grumbled but slid off, mumbling about how she was completely useless when it came to gossip and returning to painting their nails. Ginny glared at them. 

“Don't listen to them, they’re ridiculous.”

“Why would I listen to those two? It’s a miracle their brains are still working from all the fumes.”

Ginny laughed and walked to her own bed, bidding her a goodnight Hermione changed for bed and drew her curtains, setting her wand alight to read by and falling asleep somewhere near the end. 

She woke up late the next morning...well at least late for her standards. She was still early enough to get dressed and head to the Infirmary to return the healing tome to Madame Pomfrey and help make whatever was needed if she could. The woman watched over her carefully weaving a spell into a thick wrap of bandage. Madame Pomfrey told her it was called a Healer’s String, if made properly was probably the best bandage there was, provided that the injured was stationary. When she was done, she extended it to the older woman who inspected her work and nodded approvingly. 

“Very good Miss Granger, you’ll be a fine Healer yet. Go on and enjoy your Saturday.”

Hermione nodded, stowing her wand away and heading out into the brisk courtyard air. She walked the path towards Hogsmeade and heard the unfamiliar sound of her name through the tongue of another language and turned to see Aleksandr rushing towards her. 

“Hello Aleksandr,” she greeted cheerily. 

“Hermione,” he said easily. “You have agreed to show us around Hogsmeade?”

Hermione blinked, “Well… I haven’t but… as it seems that Ron and Harry have left without me again...I suppose I can.”

He cheered as the rest of the familiar band came down the path all outside of their wizarding robes, looking very out of place with their lack of sleeves considering it was nearly the end of November, but she shrugged. From what she’d read of Durmstrang it was somewhere far colder than Hogwarts could ever hope to be.

She greeted them all, trying not to shy away from the way they kissed her hand and ushered her along to the village of Hogsmeade, listening to her as she pointed out places of interest. The first stop was Honeydukes the scent of sugar making her smile, lips closed over her teeth and laugh uncontrollably at the way they seemed fascinated by the amount of candy in the establishment, talking quickly between one another and probably shocking the other constituents. 

“Oh my,” a woman said. “You’re Viktor Krum…”

He swallowed turning towards the voice, the owner of Honeydukes who told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted his autograph for her son who  _ idolized _ him. The little boy came barrelling towards his mother clinging to her. It didn’t take long for the little boy to recognize Viktor and stare up at him as she fussed at him about why he was so dirty. 

“Are you really here?” He asked, his eyes big as saucers. 

Petya smirked and leaned to whisper in Hermione’s ears, “He have great weakness for young fans.”

Hermione could see that at the way Viktor kneeled to sign whatever it was that the little boy thrusted at him and wrap his Bulgarian Red scarf around his neck.

“Will catch cold,” he said softly. “Then how will you fly for team one day?”

“You really think so?”

“Enough practice, could be better Seeker than me.” The boy flushed, practically grinning, “Would appreciate it if you could show me around.”

“Oh Mom can I? Please?”

She smiled and nodded. The boy took VIktor’s hand and proceeded to pull him around the store with the sort of enthusiasm a child could have, pointing out the best sweets, his favorites, and eventually the newest candy inspired in part by Viktor’s World Cup catching of the Snitch. 

“Mom made them,” he said pointing at the little golden orbs wearing Bulgarian red sashes. “They’ve been really popular and they’re really good.”

Viktor listened to the young boy explain that they were enchanted chocolates that flew much like a Snitch and the sash said “I Look Better In Red.” Viktor couldn’t help, but laugh as he set one of them next to the miniature candy leprechauns and watched it fly away and stick out a tongue as they tried to catch it.

“That is wonderful, your mother have a gift.”

He nodded, “My sister is really good too, but she liked Ireland so…”

Viktor laughed and after considering the boy’s suggestion bought a bunch of candy and headed towards the door, ruffling the boy’s hair as they left. 

“May the Gods bless you with a younger brother,” Antonio said. “Before you adopt anymore.”

He glowered at Antonio and pulled out chocolate Snitch to offer it to Hermione, watching it hover over his hand.

“They do look better in red,” she said with a chuckle before taking the candy out of the air and popping it in her mouth with a pleased sound that left the four boys staring at her, but she couldn’t see them with her eyes closed. When she opened them, they were still staring. 

“What?”

“Is not right,” Petya said and pat VIktor’s shoulders. “Good luck, comrade. Where we go next?”

Hermione hummed, licking a bit of the gilded chocolate off her finger and casting her eyes around. Viktor’s cheeks flushed watching the swipe of her tongue across the pad of her thumb before forcing himself to turn and point somewhere. 

“What is that?”

Antonio snickered, “Are you okay Viktor?”

“Fine,” he grunted out as Hermione told him that he was pointing at the Quidditch shop. Viktor wrinkled his nose. 

“I think I will avoid,” he said with a shake of his head, taking her arm and walking away. 

“No to the Quidditch shop?” Hermione asked looking at him. 

“Have enough Quidditch in life, no need,” Viktor said.

“And there’s the manner of the fans,” Antonio said trailing after them. 

Viktor scowled.

“I wonder if that’s where they get the Bulgarian knickers from,” Antonio asked earning a deeper scowl from Viktor.

“No, that would be Madame Lucia,” Hermione said pointing down the way. “Nothing but unmentionables in there.”

“We will avoid as well,” Viktor said steering them away from the shop, deeper into the little village as Petya and Aleksandr snickered, speaking in Romanian to one another. Antonio joined in and Hermione watched Viktor’s face get redder. 

“Are they teasing you?” Hermione asked. 

“Are betting on next...fan mail. I will not repeat.”

Hermione shook her head and looked back at them, “Be nice, boys.”

They flashed her grins that only made her think of the twins. They walked and talked before Petya pointed to a shop nearby and let out a stream of Bulgarian that made VIktor nudge him hard with his elbow.

“I will show no mercy,” he said. Hermione tilted her head.

“Everything okay?”

“Petya said that we can’t let Viktor loose inside of that shop or we will never leave,” Antonio said. “And he’s right.”

Hermione turned seeing the shop in question, it was the only bookstore in Hogsmeade that carried everything Muggle and Wizarding. 

“You sound like my friends,” Hermione said with a wry grin. “I’m not allowed in there by myself for fear I’ll never come out either.”

Viktor grinned, “Then am in good company.”

They stopped at the Three Broomsticks for lunch and drinks. Hermione grateful for the cup of butterbeer and happy to sit and chat with them all for the duration of their time. They did end up in the bookshop. Petya was assigned as her guardian declaring that she was allowed the same number of books as Viktor: one.

“You’re nicer than my friends,” she quipped skimming the spines. “They usually don’t let me in here at all and I have to sneak in.”

They laughed at that, but wouldn’t let her pay for her own book, swiping it and handing it off to Viktor, partially in thanks for showing them around and partially because they were the best friends a guy trying to woo a girl like Hermione could have.

They walked back to Hogwarts, glad to have the Great Hall mostly to themselves to laugh and talk about what days at Durmstrang are like: cold. 

“Is like Durmstrang spring time here now,” Petya said. “Have no idea what winter is like… but in summer, is better, not as good as Bulgaria. Is beautiful.”

Viktor nodded his head, “Petya not do justice. Does not live in Bulgaria. He is North Romanian.”

“Vampire,” Aleksandr teased, but smiled as Viktor spoke first of the food, then the coast line and the summer breeze off the Black Sea. 

He grew up in southern Bulgaria, near enough to Greece that he spoke it fluently. As students started filing into the Great Hall, Hermione excused herself to go get changed for dinner in  the Great Hall and they headed to back to the boat to change themselves. 

“Hermione!” Harry called as she walked downstairs. “Where were you today?”

“You left without me,” she said. “I found other people to hang out with.”

Harry blinked, “Left you? I thought we were meeting at the Three Broomsticks...”

She frowned, “I thought we were meeting at the entrance to Hogsmeade...”

They looked at one another and shook their heads, “Ron?”

Harry sighed, “Seems like he really does hate me now.”

Hermione slung an arm around his shoulder, “Don’t worry Harry. He’ll come around.”

Harry shrugged as they walked into the Great Hall for dinner, sliding into their table with a sigh and beginning to eat. Ginny came to sit with them and for a while it was peaceful. Hermione excused herself rather early, heading towards the library for just a bit of reprieve from the uproar of giggling that had come with the influx of girls coming in, Beauxbaton and Hogwarts alike. 

She sunk into one of the most comfortable reading chairs and breathed. The weekend went by rather fast and suddenly she found herself on the lakeshore with Harry and Ron reading the book she’d gotten in Hogsmeade the past weekend. The breeze rolling off the lake probably aggravating her already angry curls, but she couldn't care. She took care of it as much as she was able to, what it decided to do outside of that was not her problem.

The giggling is what told her to look up and she did, but she wasn’t prepared for what she would see. Viktor walking briskly in his long pants, boots, and a tank top that showed his impressive biceps. Starting to run before stopping to look back. The girls stopped giggling, chattering behind him and he kept walking before looking over at Hermione. She only met his eyes for a moment before returning to her book as he kept walking, followed by the group of Hogwarts girls. 

“I have to get his autograph.” Ron said. 

“You could try asking him,” Hermione said absently.

“You’re in the library all the time,” Ron said. “You could get it for me.”

“Or you could get it yourself,” Hermione said, checking her watch and standing. “I’m off to class.”

Harry watched her go then looked to Ron who wouldn’t look at him.

*

“Hermione!” Harry called desperately up the stairs leading towards the girl’s side of Gryffindor tower. “Hermione! Please it’s urgent!”

He felt… even worse at the fact that she’d warned him about waiting until the last minute to start preparing, warned him about it constantly. He’d blown her off, trying to just get a grip on the anxiety that made his fingers shake. Couldn’t he have one quiet year without a near death experience beyond falling off his broom? He just didn’t want to think about it and now he had no choice  _ but _ to think about it for the next few weeks leading up to the first task. 

“Hello Harry,” Ginny greeted. “Hermione’s not here.”

He cursed, “Where is she then?”

“Probably the library,” she said. 

He turned and raced off before she could get another word out, but she yelled after him, “Or the west tower!”

He was lucky really, considering what time it was that she was indeed at the library and not being tossed around in the dungeons by Severus. To be fair, that had been about thirty minutes prior and she was reading to keep her mind off the pain after he’d given her a potion that would help her become immune to most dark magic spells, most poisons too but hurt like hell to ingest. He’d made her drink it all and told her that if her body rejected it, shown by black tears in her eyes, they’d have to go through the process of doing it one by one, exposing her to dark magic and the like until she built up a tolerance for it. The potion came in four parts and if t hey weren't all taken in order with the right timing she'd have to start over. He'd said that they only got worse...The first had felt like a million curses in her brain.

With the second, she didn’t remember what exactly had happened, just that she surfaced slowly, bruised and battered from throwing herself around in pain, clenching her jaw to keep from screaming, but eventually it had all gone quiet and she lay still in the middle of the room, panting, tears in her eyes and exhausted. He lifted her up to check her face and told her that she was free to go. There was no healing spell or potion that could help this and he didn’t think she would get much sleep that night. 

With how much her body screamed in protest at every moment, she had a feeling that he was right. 

“Hermione,” she heard from behind her seeing Harry rushing towards her looking as antsy as she felt. 

“Hello Harry,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I need your help.”

Somehow, she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be about potions, so she set her book aside and told him to sit down.

“Dragons,” he said and she closed her eyes and groaned. “The first task… is dragons.”

Hermione sighed, that would explain a few things about the very large cages in the forest and Charlie’s appearance at Hogwarts.

“Moody said… he mentioned flying but.. I can’t bring a broom in to the task. He said I could have a wand, but I don’t know what that means.I’m sorry! I know I should have listened, but I… I just...”

Hermione smiled, sitting up and reaching across her table for the fourth year charms book she usually kept for pretense. He hung his head trying to breathe around the panic that had just come rushing out of him. He’d been running, running from this thing, thinking that somewhere in the universe there was an ounce of  _ fairness _  for him. Lo and behold, it hadn’t come. It didn’t exist. She flipped and flipped until she reached the proper page and slid it across to him. 

“Ack-ee-o?” Harry asked, reading the description of the spell.

“Accio,” Hermione corrected.  “We haven’t gotten to this section in the book in class, but you’ll need it.”

Harry licked his lips nervously, his hands shaking. 

“Thank you, Mione… I know you’ve got to be pretty upset with me.”

“You think so?” Hermione asked, not looking up from her book.

“Because I didn’t listen…”

Hermione gave her secret smirk, focusing on the clear anxiety on Harry’s face, “There’s nothing wrong with a little fantasy when your reality is as hard as this, Harry.”

He swallowed, “Well, I’ve also been a bit of git, haven’t I?” He said. 

“Harry,” she said easily. “If you weren’t a bit of git most of the time I’d worry.”

He found himself laughing and shaking his head as she grinned at him, teeth and all. When he titled his head, curiously. 

“Your teeth…” Harry started. “They’re… smaller?”

“Well spotted,” she said with a chuckle. “After the Ferret’s little curse, Madame Pomfrey shrunk them back, I just let her go a little further.”

Harry nodded, “Brilliant… your hair?”

“Hex from Hufflepuffs.”

“Hufflepuffs?”

“They were going to hex a first year.”

“Of their own house?” He asked incredulously. 

“No, Slytherin.” She said and Harry shook his head. 

That was Hermione for you, helping anyone and everyone he smiled down at the book with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I… don’t think I ever tell you how much you meant to me.”

“Because I proof your potions essays?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Harry corrected. “You’re… far kinder to me than I probably deserve… even when I didn’t tell Ron to stop being a git first year.”

She looked up remembering it… Had she been a little less off the tail end of an emotional roller coaster, she could have taken the Troll with ease. Then again, she’d straightened up soon after, lying to McGonagall’s face like that. She wondered if that’s when Severus had begun to watch her for potential… to be his apprentice in secret.

“Well you saved me from a troll so…” She shrugged, “Guess we’re even.”

He snorted, “I don’t think I could ever be even with you Hermione,” he said. “How many times have you saved my life?... And I’m not so convinced you couldn’t have taken that troll.”

She gave him an incredibly Slytherin smile, “Well.. we’ll never know now will we?”

Harry tilted his head a little bit and shook his head, “You are downright frightening sometimes, ‘Mione...Have you tried this charm before?”

She nodded, “You have to focus. We could practice if you like.”

Harry gave her a relieved sigh, “I owe you…books by the cart and chocolate by the kilograms.”

She laughed and stood up, steadying herself easily though her legs screamed in protest before turning slowly and pointing down the corridor towards where Madame Pince kept all the muggle books. Her wand movements were always so very precise, he envied her.

“ _ Accio _ Hamlet.”

She held out her hand as the play flew across the corridors into her hand. She waved it and he stood up to try it. 

“ _ Accio  _ A History of Hogwarts.”

Nothing came and Hermione shook her head, “Try something you actually want to come to you.”

“ _ Accio  _ Way out of the Tournament. _ ”  _ Hermione laughed as he sighed, “That didn’t work either.”

“A little more realistic, maybe something you can see until you get the hang of it,” Hermione coaxed, showing him the wand movement again. “Then point. And speak.”

He took a breath eyeing the book on the edge of a table a few feet away. 

“Accio Mumbling Mysteries.”

The book jerked, but didn’t move. He tried again and again and after about an hour of randomly pointing at book that he could see he huffed.

“Why… is this so bloody easy for you?”

“Practice,” Hermione said. “It’s a...charm we haven’t begun to read the logic behind yet.”

Harry glowered at her, “Something tells me that you’ve already read it.”

Hermione shrugged, “I spend a lot of time at the library Harry.”

“How long did it take you to get this?”

She winced, “A while.”

“How long?” He asked looking at her seriously. “Don’t lie to spare my feelings.”

“First try?” She said and continued on, “But I still can’t produce a Patronus.”

Harry frowned, “You can’t?”

She shook her head, “I barely get little wispI of smoke.”

“Maybe… you didn’t pick a memory that was happy enough.”

Hermione looked down and cleared her throat as he turned to her,“‘Mione…”

“We should focus on this, yeah? No Dementors in my near future, but there is a dragon in yours.”

Harry swallowed turning back and trying to focus but he couldn’t dropping his arm before pulling her against him into a tight hug. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

Hermione shook her head and squeezed him tightly, “It’s not your fault…”

Harry swallowed, pulling back and looking at her. Yes, it wasn’t his fault, but he knew that he’d contributed to the issue for sure. He turned back to practicing, but soon it was time to head back to Gryffindor Tower and they walked back in quiet. He was going to ask her, but he stopped himself.

“‘Mione,” Harry started before she headed up the stairs. “We should… we should talk…”

Hermione gave him half a smile, “Sure… After you don’t get eaten by a dragon.”

He laughed, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Hermione nodded and headed up the stairs to get ready for bed. As usual, the bathroom was a mess from Pavarti and Lavender’s abuse. She ignored it, bathing and changing for bed. She crawled into bed and stroked Crookshanks as she opened the book Viktor had given her finding that the pain had pulled her under so fast that she couldn’t even get more than a few words in.

The next day she finds that she’s not interested in being social at all. Harry makes her promise to help him practice before dinner and they do. They don’t talk much as he tries to get things to come to him. It isn’t as successful as they hope and she can tell that he’s frustrated. 

“Close your eyes, Harry,” Hermione said evening her voice, the same sort of mantra that McGonagall used to help her sink into meditation when her mind was running too fast. “Imagine the book clearly in your mind, in your hand. Take a deep breath and then try.”

He did as she asked, “ _ Accio Charms Book. _ ”

He opened his eyes to see the book hovering in front of him before dropping to the ground and he let out a shout of victory, turning to hug her tight, laughing with joy. 

“Hermione, thank you! You’re the best! Bloody brilliant!”

She could only laugh with him and walk with him to the Great Hall. She stayed long enough to eat a decent meal before leaving for a walk. She put her bag in her room, changed clothes and left the courtyard heading towards the lake. It rather cool for October, but she doesn’t feel it through her muggle clothing and her warming charms.

She slowed down hearing footsteps behind her and whirled. 

“Lumos!”

He was illuminated, hands up looking at her.

“VIktor!” She said shocked lowering her wand. “I’m sorry.”

“Is… uncanny, yes?”

She laughed, “ Rather… Minus the threat to our lives.”

He smiled and walked towards her to catch up. 

“Where are you going? Dangerous to be out in dark.”

She smiled, “I think we both know I can handle myself...And nowhere special.”

He nodded, “I may go with you?”

“Sure, what are you doing out here?”

“Wanted to skate.”

“Skate?” She asked, her eyes lighting up as he said it. 

He nodded, “Past time at Durmstrang. Lake always have thick ice. You… skate?’

She shrugged looking away. Viktor was a pureblood. He wouldn’t really understand the nature of figure skating or its significance as a sport in the Muggle World. Her parents had put her in ice skating classes after realizing that their daughter much preferred the library to the playground with other children. They didn’t want her to grow up without any social skills so they’d given her two options that they could trust since they knew people who taught classes for both: ballet or figure skating. When she’d gotten a little older, they’d tried to get her into choir since it was apparent that she’d inherited her grandmother’s voice as well as her name, but she was quite happy to stay on the ice even after she became Angelo’s only student. After her winter win in her first year at Hogwarts, Angelo had been dead set on getting her into an IFS competition and eventually the Olympics if he could manage it.

“Will skate with me?”

She nodded walking down with him to the shore and watching him freeze a large patch of the lake extending out. He charmed his boots before stepping on to the ice and offering her his hand. She smiled and let him charm her shoes for her before taking his hand and stepping on to the ice. She looked down at her shoes with interest. She would have to get the charm from him in case she wanted to go skating but didn’t want to go running for her skates, or left them at home. It was like a perfect pair of new skates that had been broken in properly.

“Will go slow yes?”

She smiled, “No need. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You are sure?” he asked, skating forward. “You will be alright?”

She smiled and just couldn’t help skating a simple eight around him and grinning at the way he stared in shock as she continued to follow the path, gliding without effort.

“You… skate well.”

“I’m trained,” she said absently. “My parents thought it better than letting me stay in libraries and forgo social interactions.”

He laughed and skated along with her. They did a few laps together talking about her childhood in the muggle world, the concept of figure skating.

“What is figure skating?” Viktor asked. “Have heard of it but never seen.”

“It’s...fancy skating,” she said simply, almost wryly. She was three when she’d first stepped on the ice and once she’d gotten the hang of gliding and stopping, she’d told her parents that she would be the “most brilliant figure skater” in the world with at least one Gold Medal and a Doctorate in Library and Information Science. She’d been making progress towards those goals before McGonagall had come to her house and told her she was actually a witch. She’d been such a strange child growing up. Now, she thought, perhaps, she could work for the Ministry of Magic and compete occasionally. She wanted to meet Surya Bonaly one day, preferring to model her programs after hers with some incidental artistic flair. 

“I train to do it competitively back home,” she said. “I thought I could make a career out of it, but then… you know magic.” 

Not that she wasn’t grateful for her training. It had helped immensely with the physical parts of Severus’ training as she didn’t have the added burden of being athletically challenged. She may not have been able to block his spells with her own, but he didn’t get a hit in without a fight.

“Could see?” Viktor asked. “You seem happy when speaking of it.”

Hermione stopped and looked at him before nodding. He skated back towards the bank to watch her, confused partially why she moved and stopped taking an odd pose to his eyes. But there was something else, before she began to skate, a different sort of grace and movement than before. She seemed possessed by a memory, gliding, flying across the ice, his eyes widened as she went into a spin turning out of it and landing solidly, running on the edges of her imaginary blades to spin again, holding the spin, growing faster as she bent over, a hand grabbing her leg and bending back before whipping out of it into another graceful glide.

She’d forgotten the easy feeling of gliding across the ice. No thought only feeling with no pain and no fear. Her brain running a mile a minute background calculations as she flew across the ice and finding herself extending a spin longer than she meant to, slowing to a stop and panting. Letting the feeling overwhelm her as she looked up, feeling utterly light, settling back in her skin just as easily as she’d left it to skate. She realized then that even though she’d been keeping up with her training on and off the ice, she hadn’t actually just  _ skated _ in a while. When had it been more of a tether to the muggle world than something she enjoyed doing? When was the last time she’d read a book, a fiction book, just because she could? It seemed that the concept of  _ joy _ had been replaced purely with utility for the most part. 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but opened her eyes and found herself falling at Viktor’s expression. He was at her side seconds later asking if she was okay, helping her up and helping her back to the bank. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Must have been dizzy. Didn’t mean to--”

“You were amazing,” he said in awe. “Have not seen someone fly on ice.”

She shied away and shrugged, “It’s nothing.”

“If I try that I would hurt self, not nothing.”

She laughed, “It’s not that big of a deal… You can ride a broom.”

He rolled his eyes, “Is not less impressive because not wizarding.”

She swallowed looking at him. 

“I am thinking is more impressive.”

“How so?” She asked. 

“No magic… just… self. Look very hard, need great skill to do.”

Hermione swallowed and looked at him. 

“Is… amazing you learn so much without help, Hermi-own-knee. Is amazing you do so much without magic help… and much more with it.”

She’d never considered that, perhaps she had begun to by the wizarding view of the world in which muggle society was inferior to the wizarding world. She shook her head and stood up. 

“Well then I’ll have to teach you how to do a figure eight at least.”

He grimaced, “Do not wish to be eight figure.”

She laughed and tugged him to his feet, pulling him on to the ice, “It’s the shape you make when you skate. Come on.”

She took his hands laughing as he seemed to be awkward on his skates, nervous that she was skating backwards leading him into turns that he wasn’t used to and subsequently tumbling them to the ground.

“Prefer circle,” he said after he’d fallen, taking her down with him. 

She laughed a high ringing thing into the air.before getting up and helping him up as best she could. They walked back with a grin. 

“Still too close to ground for me,” Viktor said dispelling the charm on his boots. “But fun in circles only.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Hermione chided with a girn. “It’s as far off the ground as I like to be.”

“Have tried and fall.”

She laughed, “How did you learn to skate?”

“Durmstrang boys teach, not good teachers but good enough after girlfirend.”

She looked at him as he stopped, trying to find the words, “I was in bad place. She wanted Seeker, not Viktor… Wanted to quit Quidditch. Did not want to be used anymore. Cyrus… he talk me down, say take break. Did not speak for long time, no interview, no laugh...just study and hurt… Durmstrang classmen take us out on ice, snowball fight. Force me to join… Was fun… Helped to forget.”

“I’m sorry Viktor,” she said. “That’s… That’s terrible.”

He shrugged, “Am over it now. Though wish I quit before Hogwarts.”

She grinned, “But then we wouldn’t have met.”

He looked at her and grin, “No… would have somehow.”

Hermione smiled and walked on. He walked her to the Tower, chatting with her about his friends still at Durmstrang, those not old enough to participate in the Tournament. His roommate, Cyrus, who was younger, but in his year. 

“Brilliant, you would like.Voice is dangerous now.”

“Voice? Is he part siren?”

Viktor hummed, “I am thinking you would think, but not. May have met. He went to Hogwarts before Durmstrang.”

“Hogwarts? Here?”

”Da,” he said. “He transfer… two years ago.”

She hummed, that would have made him a third year when she’d come to Hogwarts.How interesting. Viktor smiled, kissed her hand and wished her goodnight as the portrait gave them a knowing smirk, the paintings all trying to look inconspicuous while watching them. He left her there, his fingers trailing across her hand and her unable to resist smiling lightly. 

“Fairy lights,” she said not acknowledging the Fat Lady’s smirk. 

“Very handsome stranger you have,” she complimented and swung open allowing Hermione to step through.


	7. Dancing Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stupid dragon challenge...but at least it gives Viktor a chance.

The dragons were an exceptionally bad idea as she was pretty sure that Harry’s ploy to fly away, the dragon following him, and subsequently destroying parts of the castle wasn’t exactly part of the plan. But the way he’d beamed at her, the way Ron and Harry had laughed together after Ron had finally come around had been worth the slight heart attack. Either way, it could have gone better. So here she was in the library, in her comfy chair, reading in order to stop the quaking. She couldn’t even look at Harry given how worried she’d been, half-scolding him for not being a bit more prepared, even though the weakened chain was not his fault. She thought it would get better, but it had not--instead, it had gotten worse as the thought of Viktor being crushed ran through her mind. Viktor had gone before Harry, but her mind had not caught up to the fact that he’d done something so incredibly dangerous. 

She heard his shuffling feet first, then the giggling that made her look up to see him, confused as to why the table was so very visible and she was not at it given that he’d seen her walk in. He turned seeing her and smiling. 

“Hello,” he greeted coming over towards her.

Hermione looked up at him, biting her tongue as he sank down into one of the cushions looking at her.

“Hello, Viktor.”

It’s her tone that gets him, confused and a little nervous. It’s flat and withdrawn, not at all like what he was used to coming from her. 

_ Tense… hurt… fear…. _ he can practically taste it all on his tongue.

“You are… upset?” Viktor asked. “I should leave?”

Hermione let out a breath and shook her head, “No… I just..I was worried… for you...If one thing had gone wrong...you could have been crushed.”

His eyes widened and his expression turned warm and happy, “You were worried about me?”

“Yes,” she said, somehow managing to remain calm. “I… I have grown to see you as a friend Viktor…”

“Words make me very happy, but no need to worry for me. Use charms, protective charms--good with protective spells.”

She looked at him and let out a breath, “Yes… I know you’re good with charms. That… doesn’t keep me from worrying.”

Quite honestly, it didn’t make any sense. Viktor was older, clearly more mature, but it wasn’t the normal state of things that she didn’t know the plan. Sure, she’d decided not to talk about the Triwizard challenges with Viktor, and still stood by that decision, that didn't keep her heart from freaking out seeing him running between the legs of the dragon the way he had.

“Is... sorry,” he said with a happy smile. “Did not mean to worry you, but I am okay.”

She nodded and let out another breath, “I’m sorry… it must be very strange to you. We’ve barely known each for a month and already--”

“Do not be sorry, I am happy to hear you worry for me.  Is very happy...Make me feel special.”

“Well Viktor you are the  _ Greatest Seeker in the World _ , _ ”  _ Hermione said quoting the newspaper she’d set aside. “And apparently in some sort of love triangle with me and Harry.”

Viktor nodded, “I do not like Skeeter woman. She bad press.”

Hermione sighed and shrugged, “She is that at the very least...How goes things otherwise?”

He shrugged, “Not bad. Figure out clue, top of task, top of class, beautiful girl worry for me. Good life.”

Hermione snorted, “I’m glad for that at least. How goes avoiding the fans?”

He groaned pitifully, “Is not good. Only bad part. Headmaster thinks I too… distant… I tell him I wish to be left alone… treated like normal person, but he does not hear. He hear fans and fame.”

Hermione nodded, she could understand that completely, “You could carry your broom around in case of a quick getaway.”

He nodded, “Would only follow. I try practice with Petya and Antonio, but they at pitch, over lake… everywhere!”

Hermione shook her head, “Poor baby, so very wanted.”

“Is stressful to have people ask for signature all time, giggling make headache and blonde haired boy at snake table...?”

“Malfoy?”

“He stroke fire,” he said with a groan. “Wish I could sit anywhere else and not cause riot in Durmstrang or Hogwarts.”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look with a sage nod, “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

“Fie on it,” Viktor said wearily looking at her as she stared at him in shock. “‘Tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.”

After a moment, he realized that she was still stunned into silence.

“What?”

“You quoted Shakespeare.”

Correctly, accurately like a quip stolen from time. It had lightened her heart that  _ someone _ got it. So much that she found herself smiling, before hiding her teeth quickly.

“Da,” he said with a shake of his head. “What is wrong?”

Hermione let out a breath of disbelief, “I have been at Hogwarts for years and no one has ever quoted Shakespeare before. Most people don’t even know who he is.”

He scoffed, “Pureblood and true wizard mentality blind them to art and worth of muggle world. Beside Shakespeare was squib.”

Her jaw dropped, leaning forward “ _ No. _ ”

“Da,” he said. “Macbeth witches real, sisters. Wrote what he saw and put on stage for muggles.”

She leaned forward, “I have never heard of this.”

“Is… not common knowledge. Very secret in Ministry, was not good show of keeping muggles ignorant.”

Hermione chuckled, no she supposed not. 

“I have question,” Viktor started. “Not wish to be rude.”

Hermione shook her head, “Nothing ventured nothing gained.”

He looked at her, “You are…muggle-born, yes?”

She swallowed and nodded, “Yes.”

“Not think all purebloods are same?”

She shook her head,"No one should be judged based on their lineage."

Viktor let out a sigh of relief, “Good. Was worried.”

“And why is that?” She asked, almost amused. 

“Mother… set me up with purebloods often. Father laugh like joke, but he not have to sit with them and listen to them giggle and speak of nothing. Like Malfoy. I am not like them.”

“Somehow Viktor, I think that is more a function of your fame rather than the blood...and I have yet to giggle at you.Everyone should be treated with respect, not lumped in because of something as simple as blood ties.”

“Perhaps, but will not take chances. Would hurt pride for beautiful girl to giggle at me.”

She snickered at that, shaking her head before looking at him. Viktor was an odd one, not at all like his persona would say. He wasn’t nearly as ill-tempered as his constant scowl would make him out to be. He was funny, charming even… and dare she say handsome in a way that she hadn’t quite encountered before. He wasn’t beautiful, but rugged with a tall, dark and handsome  _ je ne sais quoi _ about him that made it a trial to keep focused sometimes. As her mother said, she'd always had a type growing up.

When she got back to her room and climbed into bed, ready for the night, it had dawned on her that she hadn’t gone to sleep sobbing in weeks. She’d slept well, felt rested and dare she say  _ happy _ . A bit of the hope she’d had coming into Hogwarts was there burning in her chest. 

If only such things could last…

Minerva had taken extra care to gather the entire Gryffindor house to teach them how to dance and while Hermione had thoroughly enjoyed watching Ron dance with Minerva, embarrassing him thoroughly after a terrible comment about one of the girls in their house--it would only get worse she knew. 

_ A swan _ , she thought with a bit of a chuckle. She had never considered herself having an internal swan… let alone it longing to be free and she was pretty sure most of the boys of Gryffindor had no such knowledge of any lions in them waiting to prance. 

“Everyone pair up now,” McGonagall said. “Mr. Potter, do be advised that as a champion will be the first to dance.”

Harry paled as if the tournament wasn’t enough of a worry… He had to  _ dance _ too? Which meant he had to have a date and that just wasn’t in the cards. It’s awkward, primarily because it was uneven and as usual, Hermione had offered to sit out with a book in her lap and McGonagall had allowed it citing that Hermione would have lessons later.

“As if anyone would ever want to take Granger to a dance,” Seamus laughed, “Who wants to have their head talked off all night.”

She’d expected that and didn't bother to heed his taunts as they passed out of the room. But it was not so easy to ignore the voices at her own house’s table when they break for dinner. Harry was mostly asleep at the table dragging spoonfuls of food to the edge of the plate and hoping that enough of it made it into his mouth.

“I prefer girls like Lavender, real pretty. She always looks good--unlike, Granger.”

“Who would ever want Hermione?”

“Except another bookworm.”

Ron laughed, “Probably end up accidentally transfiguring herself into a book. Seems to be what she wants.”

“The bushiest book in history!”

They laughed and like that day in the clearing, power simmered beneath her skin and she wanted to tear and rip. Instead, she stood from the dining room table as someone went on about curves, womanly figures, and in general everything she couldn’t-- no  _ wouldn’t _ ever be. She wasn’t made for male consumption and she had no interest in pretending that she was either. 

“Lay off Ronnikins,” Fred said shoving him. “You’re just mad because Herms’--”

“Perhaps,” she began slowly gaining their attention except for Harry who was slipping deeper into sleep as his pain potion kicked in. “If you weren’t so busy making fun of the only reason half of you pass classes, and Gryffindor has any points left at the end of the year, then you would have a girlfriend or at the very least a date. As it stands, continue you on with your prattling.”

She sauntered out then, head held high, dignified through the halls, exuding confidence and control even as her insides were crumbling. From the Great Hall, Gryffindor was too far, but her private tower top that she usually used for spell practice was just long enough walking distance that she made it up the stairs, sat down in her normal spot laying out books around her and pulling out object to transfigure before the tingling in her throat became a sob and the burning in her eyes slid down her cheeks. She shivered a bit at the cold, but she couldn’t think, trying to focus on the words of the pages. Trying her best to just…

_ Do. _ Do until she could forget about it. 

But the words were hard, cutting through her chest, her heart and mind leaving behind gashes that bled laughter, peals of it and horrible words. 

_ Sabertooth Granger. _

_ Filthy little Mudblood. _

_ Insufferable Know-It-All _

_ Bushy Haired. _

_ Ugly. _

_ Frigid. _

_ Prude. _

_ Mental… _

_ Not worthy. _

_ Not worth.  _

_ Not. _

She leaned against the cold stone, curling up and forgetting to keep a grip on her wand, forgetting that she wanted to try this new spell to not only transfigure but to animate constructs. 

_ Boys will be stupid, Mia, _ her mother would say after she’d come home sobbing from school at how mean kids were.  _ But they aren’t worth your tears _ .

Was she? She couldn’t tell, staring into nothing and hearing nothing but buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t feel the cold, couldn’t feel anything but the occasional wracking sob coming from her chest. She stared, curled into herself unable and unwilling to move. It almost felt… nice, the numbness and the world drifting away from her as she sank deeper into her mind. Memories she didn't like to think about dragging her down.

Severus felt it. Her breaking point, felt the depth of despair gushing like a fatal wound through the bond they’d begun to form since he’d been teaching her Occlumency and Legilimency. Felt it with the cold and looked towards the Gryffindor table. She had not been gone for more than a few minutes. Whatever had been said to make her leave had been enough, perhaps on top of everything else, to make it happen. He looked to Albus meaningfully as it did not seem to ebb, but harden, freeze and he felt the tell-tale tingling in his fingers, something akin to frostbite. 

Was she outside?

He stood up, to walk towards Albus leaning towards him. 

“It is for the best, Severus. We need to know.”

Severus almost yelled, but he kept his mouth shut as the old man seemed to stare straight ahead over the Great Hall as a group of Durmstrang boys left the Great Hall a larger group of giggling girls followed just behind. 

According to the plan, they would all head to the library and at some point, Petya, Aleksandr, and Antonio would run interference, something he was incredibly grateful for to just get some peace and quiet. He’d hoped to find Hermione at their usual table, maybe on the comfy couches to talk. He cast a spell over Petya and himself so that their appearances would seem to be one another as they entered the library and Petya took Viktor’s normal course. Viktor went straight to Madame Pince’s desk and asked if Hermione had come in.

“I’m sorry dear, she hasn’t. Not since this morning.”

He bit his lip and thought for a moment before it came to mind where else she may be.  _ The tower _ , not the one that everyone suggested as a good place to meet up, but the one no one went to. It had no charms on the area, no comforts, and was more or less completely abandoned. He’d seen her leave, but there had been something off about her walk. 

It was not the easy walk that she usually had or the focused, half-hurried walk of urgency, but something like posturing… It looked like he felt when he was in front of reporters and forced to speak English for their benefit. How he’d force himself to be still and be photographed when in reality all he wanted to do was shy away from the flash. He wanted to be left alone. To play Quidditch in peace and not have women’s underwear in his mail, but he played for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, and the Vultures during the normal season-- there had never been any hope for the quiet life that Viktor had wanted.

When he managed to find the moving stairs, and then the right set of stationary stairs, his heart skipped. Her skin had been cast over with a slight ashen-blue hue, her lips turning blue and her eyes red and vacant, staring into nothing even as she breathed and seemed let out the occasional sob. Her head turned slowly recognizing him and then moving to wipe her face and force a smile as he crossed the space. He dropped his bag outside the circle of books she had and pressed a finger to her lips, prepped to speak, to say she was just fine when she was very clearly not. Sitting in the cold, when she hated to be cold, tears streaks across her face and curled up so small he thought she may vanish into the stone if she tried hard enough.

“Shh, mila,” he whispered looking into her eyes. “Nyama nuzhda sa luzhe.”

She blinked slowly, maybe stunned by the words she did not understand, or the cold. Either way, he pulled his outer robe off to pull it around her, careful to bundle her up, then placed his fur hat on her head, gently shoving it down over her hair to cover her ears. Her eyes were still vacant as he cast wind blocking spells and warming charms around the area. He cast a cushioning charm on the ground behind the circle of books, her watchmen or maybe her wall between her and the world before sitting down and pulling her into his lap as he adjusted the bottom of the cloak to cover her legs and feet fully. When she was settled, comfortable and sharing his body heat, he wrapped his arms around her, gently, tenderly even, hands around her waist and threaded through her curly hair.

It was as soft as he’d imagined, the curls were far more defined nearer to her scalp, strong enough that he could feel the beginnings of ringlets there. He murmured softly, resting his head on top of hers and speaking soothingly, a tangle of words he probably didn’t understand, but would understand his meaning from his tone alone. 

She didn’t realize it when she dozed off in his arms. She didn’t even understand why beyond the soothing scent of him wrapped around her, but when she awoke in the Infirmary, still wrapped in his cloak, his hat on her head and under a significant number of warming charms, she had a feeling that she’d been outside a bit too long. Severus had told her that mastering Occlumency could have other side effects depending on the make-up of her mind. Apparently, not feeling that she was turning into a muggle-born popsicle was one of them, along with a lack of emotional capacity.

She was beginning to understand why Severus always had a positively blank expression all the time.

“Dear child, are you alright?” Madame Pomfrey asked coming to check on her. “You’ve been asleep for most of the day. I’ve sent word to your professors, of course.”

She blinked looking at her groggily, “How did I get here?”

“Mr.Krum carried you in last night before the curfew bell tolled with all of your books and everything. He left his cloak here with you saying that there were warming charms on it that would help coax you back into consciousness...He really was quite sweet.”

Hermione nodded sitting up, drawing the cloak closer to herself. It was incredibly warm, scented with something… Like fresh forest air and the sea mingled, the scent of… bourbon and freshly chopped wood. Madam Pomfrey gave her a check up and told her that she was not to go to classes today but back up to her room to rest.

“And be sure to thank Mr. Krum.”

She obliged, finding her way up the stairs, still drained from her bout with what she figured was hypothermia. She changed for bed, climbed into bed, shut her curtains and snuggled beneath the cloak and hat feeling a strange sense of contentment. If she had to guess, his cloak also had calming charms in it… which meant he’d seen enough of her episode to know that she was under a high level of distress. She should be mortified, more mortified than she was that he’d seen her that way. 

But his voice had been so kind, understanding, tender… a little reprieve from the harshness that Hogwarts had seemed to throw at her from the moment she’d opened her mouth to answer a question. She’d learned as much as she could as quickly as she could before coming to Hogwarts about the wizarding world. Obsessed and a little upset about this piece of herself that she had no knowledge about. Her parents had always been sure to teach her about her family’s heritage hailing from African rulers, yet they had never mentioned magic. She had only wanted to fit in and in her haste to know who she was through what her blood had once been--she’d made herself an outcast. 

“...mione”

She groaned turning over. 

“Hermione?”

She sat up rubbing her eyes, “Are you coming down for dinner?”

“I’ll… be down.”

She heard Ginny leave the room with a sigh and hoped to the powers that be that she could think of a way to return Viktor’s cloak and hat without being obvious, or embarrassed. She took a breath and grabbed an envelope, careful to pen out a neat and gracious thank you before shrinking the cloak and hat and placing them inside with the letter. She went the Owlry first then to the Great Hall in time for the lunchtime delivery. 

“Fanmail?” Petya asked as the owl dropped a letter in Viktor’s hands. “Just one? That’s rare.”

“The rest are on the ship I’m sure,” Viktor said with a nod of his head. 

“Wonder what color these will be…”Aleksandr grinned nudging him. “Well don’t leave us in suspense, Viktor.”

Viktor glowered at him, remembering the parcel of fan mail that Petya had given him from his stint in the library. They all smelled of perfume and love potions. But this one was a rather strange envelope. The wax had no seal pressed into it, his name written plainly on the front of the envelop. He opened the envelope and pulled out--

“Your hat?”

Viktor blinked, placing it on the table and pulling out his cloak as well. 

“That’s… some rather advanced magic,” Antonio said, impressed. “This would be from...your donosnik, right?”

Viktor opened the note, ignoring the question and the heat on his cheeks.

_ Dear Viktor,  _

_ While I would usually have the courtesy to return this to you in person, I would not want to cause a riot for you or Hogwarts. Thank you for your kindness. I cannot say anyone has been as kind to me as you have been in the short time we’ve known one another.  _

_ Allow me to make it up to you one day. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Hermione G. _

He folded the letter looking across the tables to where Gryffindors greeted her, hounding her for where she’d been and help with their homework or whatever assignment they’d had going. She was without her bag this evening and still a tad flushed but much better than the nearly frozen look she’d had when he’d found her. Her normally dark skin had regained some of its healthy golden undertones and glow. 

“What exactly have you been up to?” Antonio asked suspiciously.

Viktor tucked the letter in his pocket and continued eating, not hiding the smile on his face, “None of your concern.”

Petya grinned and nudged Viktor, “You’ll ask her won’t you?”

He worried his lip watching for just a moment. She sat down beside someone who was clearly in a lower year and began to go over their scroll with them, all the while talking to Harry and Ron over her shoulder. He hadn’t yet figured out what their relationship was, her and Ron, or her and Harry, but he knew that she did not look at him the way she looked at them. He moved his gaze across the table, observing and trying not to get caught watching her. Several girls waved at him, blushing, sighing perhaps. The girl with the Bulgarian scarf wrapped around her waist fluttered her eyelashes at him. The longer he scanned the table, the more girls seemed to chatter between themselves until a Slytherin sauntered her way down the table to lean over the table in front of him and not so subtly tell him that he would like to take her to the Yule Ball.

“No,” he said with a nod of his head. “I have date in mind.”

Her jaw dropped and she stammered. Luckily for him, Malfoy was drawing her attention, something about Viktor being a pureblood with no time to escort  _ mudbloods _ to the ball. It happened, almost too quickly for anyone to stop him. Grabbing Draco by the scruff of his shirt and lifting him into the air easily. He was far lighter than Viktor thought, or perhaps the word had so enraged him that it did not matter. He was, by Quidditch standards too big to be a seeker, but that size came in handy for times like this.

“Viktor, uspokoi se!” Petya pleaded but Viktor did not hear him. 

“Listen well,  _ Malfoy, _ ” Viktor began, his voice cold and Draco’s eyes wide in terror and surprise. “You will not speak to lady that way, you will not use such words. Should I hear of it, it will be much worse than embarrassment.  _ Razberete? _ ”

Draco swallowed, puzzled, “Do you understand?”

He nodded shakily and yelped as Viktor released him, letting him fall to the ground before turning, grabbing his bag and walking out of the Great Hall. He would get in trouble with Kakaroff for sure, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“Viktor!” Aleksandr yelled after him, coming down the hall and skidding to a halt to cut Viktor off.

Their eyes met as the other caught up and Aleksandr swallowed with a nod of his head, “Fly?”

Viktor let out a breath and shook his head. The four of them headed out to the courtyard, it didn’t take long for Viktor to pull the broom out of his pocket and enlarge it to its proper size before taking off, streaking through the air and beyond the lake. Petya took a seat where Viktor left his bag and breathed as Kakaroff came out. 

“Petya! Where is Viktor?” He said in a rushed and angry Russian. 

Petya pointed out in the direction that Viktor had gone flying before looking up at their headmaster, “He will be back for class. We have his bag.”

He growled a bit but stormed back into the castle. Students came out to watch Viktor seem to race the wind guided by a need to clear his head. When he landed, he seemed to float back down, allowing gravity to do its job now that he’d defied it enough. 

“Better?” Antonio asked as he shrunk his broom and stowed it in his cloak pocket.

Viktor shook his head, seeming at peace and lifting his bag from the ground. 

“Kakaroff wants to speak to you before dinner.”

“I know,” Viktor said. “But to class for now, yes?”

They shoved him playfully and headed into the castle. The group of giggling girls seemed to have grown larger and he assumed that it was because of his display at lunch. Kakaroff had been seething, yelling at Viktor about appearances, about the reasons for sitting at the Slytherin table rather than any other table even before Hogwarts had been allowed two champions. 

Rather than the library, he disillusioned and headed up to the tower, for sure ducking the group of girls scouring the tables looking for him. He heard the sound of spells and a familiar voice, humming to the sound of music, some french muggle pop song with powerful vocals as she cast spells over the objects she’d brought with her, transfiguring them. He watched her for a moment, standing outside her ward, but no doubt already tripping whatever other spells she’d placed on the stairs. Her hair is up in a messy bun, secured by a half broken quill, baring the nape of her neck and allowing the tie she had around her face to sit.

Intrigued by the complexity of the objects she transfigured, how she managed to duplicate some into a myriad of figurines; dragons, hippogriffs, a sphinx… and Simurgh. He smiled wryly at her imagination, impressed in the varieties of dragons done in such detail and such a small size. A symbol for each of the houses and the two schools who’d come. She took another breath and seemed to relax, beginning exacting wand strokes in silence as the edge of her wand began to glow. A trail of golden light drifting and settling over the figurines. He watched on as the light coated them all in a wave, drawing colors to the surface until she threw her wand arm out and the last bit of light settled. 

She took a deep breath and tugged at the blindfold over her eyes, watching anxiously. He wondered what she was supposed to be doing when one of the figurines, the sphinx, twitched. Now the color of a figurine in ancient Egypt, gold, blue and red. Its eyes opened and it stepped forward and stretched back before walking. She stared as he did, watching the sphinx walk around her, getting a look at her as the other constructs began to move. Dragons lifting into the air, the Simurgh taking flight to fly around her head, the metal of its body changed to vibrant colors, the tail of a peacock and deep eyes. The green and silver snake, slithered around her feet towards him looking at him in curiosity as she laughed at the hippogriff that had landed on top of her head. 

“You are very good,” he said and she turned, the blindfold around her neck and her smile open and bright. 

He’s stunned for a moment because her teeth have changed, and more than that it was the first real smile she’d given him. His heart fluttered and his fist closed, walking forward, careful of the constructs who seemed to gravitate around her. 

“Hermi-own,” he started, wincing at the butchering of her name. 

“Hi Viktor,” she said, laughing at the fairy that seemed keen to tickle her with the softness of its metal wings. 

He swallowed, thinking for a moment before digging into his pocket for a large stone of an interestingly deep, royal blue and gold color, some mash-up of amber and lapis lazuli. He’d found it while swimming in the Black Lake, letting the coldness of the water empty his mind. Her eyes widened as he watched her expression and watched him tap the stone, whispering over it and watching it morph into a quill with a blossomed rose on the end of the quill. Her eyes lit up in wonder as the golden flecks catch the light and toss it around between the petals gently. 

“It’s… beautiful.”

“I have question,” he said, offering it to her, “But this is yours without answer.”

She looked at him in awe, taking the delicate looking quill from his hands.

“More sturdy than quills that break in hair.”

She refused to smile even as he did and swatted him for his teasing, “Ha ha.”

“Have to go as champion to Ball,” he said. “Wanted to ask…”

She waited, watching the flush grow on his cheeks.

_ Don’t be a chicken, Viktor, _ he scolded himself.

“If you would honor me by accompanying me to Yule Ball? As date?”

She blinked, drawing back for a second and his stomach turned uncomfortably.

“I...sorry. Presume too much.” Viktor said. 

“You’re asking me to the Yule Ball?” Hermione asked, stunned into silence.

“Forget,” he said stepping back. “Did not mean… you probably have date--”

“No, I don’t,” she said shaking her head, reaching out, a gentle hand on his arm to keep him from fleeing like he so desperately wanted to. 

He wondered if she could feel his pulse, racing like a group of chariots towards the finish line. He couldn’t remember being so nervous before...perhaps the first time he’d flown higher than the top of a house.

“No boyfriend?”

Hermione scoffed, “Who would date the Know-It-All? I’m just a talking textbook.”

“Do not say such things,” he said turning to her, taking her hand in his, gently. “I would court you, not because you “know-it-all” because you are kind, smart… make me...how do you say...nervous but in good way.”

She looked away then, but something told him that it was not so much a rejection as being unsure. He placed the edge of his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up so their eyes could meet.

“Would be honor to have you on arm at Ball,” he said.

She worried her lip for a moment, not sure why her stomach was churning. 

“You not have to answer now,” Viktor said, swallowing. “Just wished to ask before lost courage.”

She smiled helplessly, “Courage? I can’t imagine why an international star would need courage to ask me to a ball.”

“Not international star with you,” he said. “Just frightened clumsy boy asking beautiful girl to dance--scary.”

She smiled, “I’m… flattered Viktor, really, but I have nothing to wear to this.”

He nodded, “No worries. Only need to know if you will come with me. Rest is easy.”

Hermione looked to the masterpiece in her hand before looking up at him and giving him a nod, a little dizzy with the thought of being asked, accepting, and actually  _ going _ to the Ball with him.

“I’ll... “ she started looking at him a little afraid and a lot hopeful. “I’d love to go with you.”

He grinned, slow, easy and bright before pulling her close and hugging her, “You make me very happy, Hermion-nee.”

She smiled, “You make me happy too…”

Viktor smiled into the softness of her hair, the scent of shea and cocoa butter filling his nose, Egyptian musk...It reminded him a bit of Cyrus when he’d come out of the bathroom and lounge in the little bit of sun streaming through their window. She smiled breathing deeply, the scent of him stronger than it had been on his robe and hat. It's warm and comforting while her pulse raced with the realization that someone,  _ Viktor _ who could have any girl he wanted, wanted her of all people.Viktor pulled back and let out a chuckle.

“What?” She asked, her stomach dropping. 

“Quill is broken, you have ink on face.”

She blinked and reached up to her hairline feeling the wet smudge of ink sliding through her hair and wincing. 

“You sure you want to take me?”

He smiled, pulling out a blood-red handkerchief and cupping her nape with one hand as he gently dabbed it off and pulled the broken pieces of the quill out of her hair. His thumb lay gently over the swell of her cheek and it crossed her mind how large his hands were. Calloused and strong from sports but gentle in his touch.

“Am sure.”

She looked down a tad embarrassed and surprised when transfigured the pieces of quill into a sturdier pin to keep her hair up in a twisted bun. When it wouldn’t hold he huffed and she shook her head, not counting on him adding the handkerchief to the pin to secure it.

“There,” he said. “No more broken quill.”

She smiled and nodded, “Thank you.”

He shook his head and turned to the collection of animated figurines milling about the tower, “You were practicing something complex, yes?”

She nodded and told him how she’d been trying to work in animation with her transfiguration, to quicken her time and accuracy with it, before gesturing for him to sit down in the area she’d casted a cushioning charm.

“Feel different.”

She smiled shyly, “I… took a few pointers from the Nabokov translation you gave me…”

He smiled at that, “Am glad you like. What will you do with these?”

She shrugged, as the snake slithered onto her lap, “I suppose keep them for now and de-animate them…. Would you like one?”

Viktor titled his head as the fairy fluttered over to him, landing in the palm of his hand and gesturing excitedly. She reminded him of a Snitch, animated, excited and very much interested in being chosen.

“Seems like you have another fan…” she said humorously.

“I hope because creator is fan of me,” he said slyly and enjoying the way she seemed shocked.

“Thank you,” he said smiling down at the animated fairy who fluttered to sit on his shoulder, cool against his neck. 

“I could sign them for you, I heard very popular commodity at Hogwarts.”

She laughed, “Yes, I suppose so. Are you interested in increasing my fortunes?”

“I did not say you had to sell,” Viktor said. “Perhaps trade for favors.”

She smiled, “Yes, perhaps… I can think of a few people who would love an autograph.”

Her mind went directly to Harry and most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

“Your friend Harry?”

She nodded, “And the rest of the Quidditch team who seems enthralled with you… and every other Seeker in the school…And--”

“Enough,” he said scowling at her innocent face. “Is not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” she said lifting her wand to end the enchantments on the moving constructs. So they reverted to their original positions, the only exception being the fairy. Viktor thought for a moment. 

“I will give to grandmother,” he said definitely. “She fan of figurines.”

Hermione smiled offering her hand so the fairy could fly into her hand and pose as she would before Hermione froze her in place and offered her back to Viktor. He smiled. 

“She will love it, and perhaps forgive for missing events while at World Cup.”

She laughed, “You may want to send her all of these then.”

He glowered, “You have not met her, yet you know well her temper.”

Hermione grinned, “I can only imagine.”

But she picked up the planks of wood she’d planned on working with after the metal and closed her eyes, working quickly and deftly to transfigure it into an ornate box that gleamed in the low light. The inside was velvet, soft enough with extending drawers for each of the tiny constructs.

“Does she like music?” She asked.

“Very much." 

She thought for a moment and held out her hand for the tiny fairy and took another breath focusing on a wizarding opera she’d only seen once over the summer, recalling the memory and imbuing the box with it. It closed, rumbling around in the storm of magic within before producing a golden latch on the front. Hermione opened it and watched the figurines take the stage, the music play and Viktor’s eyes widened.

“How did you do that?”

She cleared her throat, “I read a lot.”

Never mind that she’d read every book on wizarding manufacturing and that books on music boxes seemed to take up a lot of space in the Hogwarts library.

He eyed her suspiciously. “I read a lot, yet can not do that… Very complex magic…”

Hermione shrugged, “I… have a lot of time on my hands since I’m no fun to talk to.”

“Fun? Is… enjoyable, yes?”

She nodded.

“You are very enjoyable to speak with. Aleksandr right--English people strange.”

She shook her head with a chuckle before closing the box and handing it to him, “That should get you out of trouble, right?”

“I think I shall be out of trouble for life,” he said. “Thank you, Hermione.”

She grinned at him, “You got it that time.”

His jaw dropped, “Hermio-ny? No, not right... “

He sighed in defeat, slumping, “You will still come with me to ball, though I butcher name?”

She laughed, “I said yes  _ before _ you got it right. Of course.”

Another bell chimed and she stood, grabbing her bag, “It’s almost curfew.”

“I can walk you to tower, yes? Carry bag for you?”

She shook her head, “Not necessary, really.”

He lifted the bag from the floor and onto his shoulder, carrying the music box and his own things along so she only had to carry the rose quill he’d made for her.

“Is not problem. Happy to… honored to,” he said in explanation as she undid the enchantments in the tower and followed him down the stairs. He walked with her to the moving stairs cases and told her about the Durmstrang Castle. 

She smiled, “The moving staircases must be very odd to you.”

“Not odd, they have never taken me where I do not wish.”

Hermione nodded, “They take a liking to some people.”

He grinned walking with her to the Gryffindor portrait, he handed her bag to her and kissed her hand with a soft goodnight ghosting over her fingertips before leaving down the corridor. The Fat Lady looked smug grinning at her.

“Hush you,” she scolded. “Fairy lights.”

The portrait swung open and she stepped inside, pressing her new quill to her chest and walking up the stairs towards her room.

“Oi, Hermione,” someone called from one of the couches. She turned. “Have you finished the Herbology assignment?”

“Of course I have,” she said. 

“Let me copy?”

“No,” she said. “Do your own work.”

He pouted, “But-- I’ll bargain with you for it!”

“You don’t have anything I’m interested in.”

"I'll  take you to the ball!"

She laughed, surprising herself as she walked on."You'll need to work on your charm. At this rate, you'll never find a date."

He grumbled as she headed up the stairs, to her room and sank onto her bed, marveling at the quill that was too beautiful to write with and smiled. Rather than putting it with her other quills that she’d broken and repaired over and over again, she pulled out her jewelry box, careful to wrap it in velvet before tucking it away. She didn’t wear jewelry often, most of the time the studs were lost in the tresses of her hair, but she’d brought it at her mother’s request.

Rather than going right to sleep, she pulled out parchment to write to her grandmother, mum and dad. She wasn’t sure what there was to say, knowing that this letter would be significantly different than any before, she wrote neat and clearly, telling them about Viktor and the ball, how frightened she was but happy… She finished it with more than enough time to slip it into to a standard envelope, address it and flop onto her bed. 

A purr captured her attention and she turned to lift Crookshanks into her arms, stroking him gently, “Could you believe that, Crook’? Me of all people?”

He purred and bat at her, the way he always did to convey  _ don’t be silly _ or maybe  _ I’m tired.  _  She was never completely sure which. Rather than worry about it, she tucked into sleep, passing a gentle hand over his fur and humming the sound the opera as she sunk down into rest.

The flurry of excitement since the announcement of the Yule Ball seemed to only heighten as people bustled about, groups of girls walking, groups of boys stopping them. It was almost amusing to see. 

“I swear, it’s like they walk around in packs to keep you from asking them.” 

Hermione only snorted at Ron’s comment, walking behind them towards class and flipping through her book. 

“Hermione!”

She looked up seeing Antonio coming towards them. Harry and Ron looked at him strangely then at her as he handed her a piece of parchment and leaned close.

“For Viktor,” he said. “You will be at Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Well plan,” he said excitedly. “We have much to thank you for, Hermione.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion until his eyes darted in the direction Harry and Ron were standing. She smiled.

“Well, if you insist,” she said helplessly.

“We do, ciao.”

She waved him goodbye and tucked the parchment in between the pages of her book.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked. “Since when did you hang out with people from Durmstrang?”

“I showed them around Hogsmeade,” she said. “They’re very sweet.”

Harry shrugged, “That’s our ‘Mione, always helping people.”

“Always in the library maybe,” Ron said and his eyes lit up. “Have you run into Krum while you’ve been in there. They say he’s in there all the time. Could you get me an autograph? An introduction?”

She looked at him and then pointed in the direction of giggling girls, “You could always ask him yourself.”

Ron growled, “You don’t just ask someone like him--what if he doesn’t understand me?”

Hermione scoffed, “You think he can’t speak English?... When he gets interviewed by English reporters?’

Ron flushed but Harry seemed to be taking his advice, walking up to him and asking him plainly for his autograph. Viktor tilted his head and he opened his hand. 

“You have quill?”

Harry pulled one out for him, signing one of Harry’s Quidditch gloves plainly, “Walk with me, Potter?”

He nodded slowly and they were off down the hallway. Ron’s jaw dropped.

“Harry seemed to not have a problem.”

Ron sneered, “Harry has his own sort of fame though doesn’t he?” 

He stormed off and Hermione shook her head, opening her book again and heading to class. Harry sat down beside her just as the class was beginning and looked at her strangely.

“What?” Hermione asked him at his expression as McGonagall began to tell them about the spell they would be trying out today.

“Nothing,” he said looking at her and then back to the board. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand as Minerva stopped at their table.

“Miss Granger, as I know you have this spell mastered, would you demonstrate?”

She looked at the tiny figurine of a dragon.

“No need for fireworks.”

Hermione made two decisive swipes of her wand and said the spell loud enough to be heard before watching the dragon blink and take flight around the classroom.

“Good,” she said looking at Hermione who smiled plainly “Now return it.”

She did so, watching it soar back to where Minerva placed it and return to its solid form. Minerva nodded and awarded the house five points before a figurine appeared on every table of different animals. The point was to animate it and then make it return to normal. 

“A word Miss Granger for a moment?”

Hermione stood up following Minerva to the front of the classroom as everyone began to try. 

“Your wand movements have changed, pretell where you learned those?”

“I… was reading in the library… just normal fourth year references this time and found a book. I’ve been practicing like you’ve asked.”

Minerva nodded, “As I can see. Perhaps you would like to try something a bit more advanced?”

She nodded excitedly and Minerva called attention, asking each house including Gryffindor to select someone to come up for a bit of a contest.

She set five frogs in a row and instructed them to change it to a metal bird, make it fly and come back before turning it back into a frog. 

“On your mark…” Minerva said. “Go.”

Harry watched Hermione and the rest work, noticing first that Hermione’s movements were different than the others, more precise… but that was Hermione for you. Her frog turned to a brilliantly colored metallic Snidget and took flight with its rotary wings, buzzing around the classroom like a snitch in flight before returning to the pedestal and melting back into a minorally disgruntled frog. 

“ _ Ribbit _ ,” Hermione laughed as Minerva declared her the winner of the little race, the Hufflepuff the next. She awarded points accordingly and then they were done for the class.

“Quite impressive, Miss Granger,” she said with a smile. “I will see you after dinner.”

“Yes Professor,” she nodded her head and headed out to study hall for Potions. Severus walked up and down the tables, looking over them as the worked. Honestly, Hermione had finished this particular assignment days ago. She was only here to be tested by Severus’s consistent pressure on her mind, trying to figure out how far along she was on her homework. She sent him on a wild goose chase through her mind, playing hide and seek with him.

“We’ve got to get a move on or all the good ones will be gone, “ Ron said looking at the other tables behind them. “We’ll be the only ones in our year without dates.”

Severus shoved his head back towards his papers as he passed and Hermione kept her head down. 

“Well… not the only. There’s Neville.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll just have to take himself.”

“It might interest you to know that Neville already got someone,” Hermione said absently, trying to focus on keeping her walls up, reminding her that it was a test to be around Ron and Harry and still vigilant.

Hermione blinked and looked at Harry and Ron whispering in agreement about “good ones” vs “trolls”. It’s George who throws a piece of paper across the table urging Ron to hurry up and ask someone.

“Well, who are you going with then?”

“Angelina.”

“Have you asked her?’

He considered, “Good point.”

Hermione couldn’t believe that he threw a piece of paper and signed his invitation to the ball across the table. She smiled shyly and agreed. 

“Done,” George said tauntingly.

Hermione shook her head and continued reading through the extra assignments that Severus had assigned her, along with her normal Potions assignment that she’d finished, skimming for errors and such before she heard it.

“Hey Hermione, you’re a girl.”

She froze, making sure she heard what she thought over Severus’s increase in mental pressure rolling her head to look at him. 

“Well spotted--”

She shut her mouth as Severus whacked Ron and Harry over the back of the head with his notebook and gave her a particularly hard push that had her ducking her head along with them. 

“Well… I mean… It’s one thing for a bloke to show up alone...For a girl, it’s just sad…”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or cry more, especially with Severus taking the obvious moment to press much harder, as hard as he’d warned her. Her voice nearly cracked as she held the repeat of Lavender's drivel, the smell of nail polish, perfume, and uncapped tubes of toothpaste against his onslaught.

Harry’s face dropped, surprised at Ron’s tone and his statement. He wasn’t sure what he expected from ever proud Ron with regards to Hermione. 

“I won’t be going alone because believe it or not someone has already asked me,” she hissed, and turned feeling Severus ease up and her defenses hold. She got up, closing her notebook and marching towards Severus to hand it to him. Her hair still corralled in the quill and fabric comb Viktor had made for her… surprisingly the most effective thing to keeping her hair together. 

She came back to grab her bag and her books before hissing at him, “And I said yes.”

She left then feeling half angry and half proud leaving them both in their idiocy.

As she marched out, perhaps because Severus was feeling kind, or a little proud that she’d held her own and maintained proper emotional appearances despite him pressing hard, she got to see them. Their heads leaned together in the back of her head. 

“ _ She’s lying right?”  _ Ron asked Harry.

Harry turned back to his paperwork, “ _ If you say so. _ ”

Severus turned, listening to them drawing back his sleeves a bit as Ron went on about plucking up the courage to ask a girl to the dance. Agreeing to have partners by the time they get back to the common room that night before Severus shoved their heads down ruthlessly. 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, practically skipping down the hallway towards the library.She slid into the library, greeting Madame Pince and walking to her usual table before opening her book and opening Viktor’s note. There was only a name, she frowned but shrugged turning it over. There were instructions to meet them at the entrance to Hogsmeade that weekend. 

She wondered why but didn’t bother to think about it. She didn't have time to when she arrived at McGonagall’s office and was instructed to transfigure a block of wood into a human figure and animate it so she could practice dancing.

She sighed, closing her eyes and trying to get the image right before casting the transfiguration and watching the wood etch and mold itself into the image of her father...smile and all. She laughed, of course, she would transfigure her father...when she lay the animation charm on the construct McGonagall started the music and the image of her father placed a hand on her waist, her hand in his and proceeded to lead her around. She laughed as it lifted her and lead her into another spin. It made her think of being a little girl, standing on his feet at family functions as they danced. It made her eyes burn to think that maybe she would never get to dance with her father again.

Her heart twists at the thought, the knowledge and every twist of fate making that reality closer and closer. 

“Well Miss Granger, it seems that you are quite capable of exceeding expectations… I look forward to having you in my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.S.  _ officially  _ when the time comes.”

She smiled and nodded happily, before returning the construct back to its original form and heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyama nuzhda sa luzhe= No need to lie.


	8. With Open Eyes

She feels it. She can’t explain how or why. Maybe it’s her animagus instincts rearing their head like McGonagall said they would. Perhaps it was Moody’s words of “Constant Vigilance”, maybe it was Severus’s late night training sessions. She’s just freed from Severus’s session, bruised, in pain, limping. Hell, she’s not even sure how she’s managing to put one foot in front of the other like this, but she’s so _wired_ that she can’t fight the instinct--let alone ignore it. It’s the kind of instinct that keeps people alive in wartime.

Whatever it was, she felt it before he’d even cast the spell, said the words or had taken the breath to do so. Before they’d come running to slam her against the wall. She felt it in the movement of the air, a creeping up her spine. She whirled in a flash of robes, avoiding the trio of boys rushing at her, catching the fourth to serve as her shield as Malfoy screamed, “Incarcerous!”

The next three overtaking her from behind, weighing her down with their weight so she fell as they tried to wrestle her wand from her. She curled tight, mumbling incantations under her breath through gritted teeth and rolled just after they got up and before they could land the first kick. She felt the rush of magic over her skin, but it wasn’t enough to do more than clear the fog in her head for a second.

“Flipendo!”

They flew backward from the blast.

In the moment it took Draco to realize that he’d bound his friend, and she’d escaped the other three lying in wait, she’d rolled up from the ground, forgoing her bag. Crabbe, Goyle, and their friend got their bearing again and charged her as another pair appeared to grab her, landing a solid punch to her face. She tripped one and lifted her wand to fire a stunning spell, but with her double vision she missed and someone grabbed her by the shoulder, wrapping his arm around her neck and squeezing as other got solid punches into her torso. She spat blood out on one of their faces and jumped to shift her captor’s sense of balance and roll him over her shoulder.

They stepped back and glared at her, the group of them realizing that she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Filthy mudblood, how dare you get your dirty blood on me!” he shrieked coming at her, wand raised.

“Expelliarmus! Incarcerous! Flipendo! Petrificus Totalus!”

Rapid fire shots, but there were still too many of them to get all at once. She had to get to Malfoy, but she wasn’t sure if she could manage it with the edges of her world blurring, her face aching and everything in her just wanting to sleep.

 _Don’t you pass out, Mia,_ she said and focused trying to peer into their minds. What they wanted, what their plans were.

She heard Draco’s words in menacing fragments that shot a jolt of terror through her.

_Teach the little mudblood a lesson._

_Bet she won’t insult me ever again after I’ve ruined her._

_Bet she’ll cry…_

_Bet she’s never been touched before._

Draco raised his wand to call out spells and she steadied herself, a hand pressed to her ribcage, forcing herself to breath around what could be a puncture.

“Finite! Finite! Silencio!”

Draco’s voice died in his throat. He opened his mouth to scream and fight to get the enchantment of, distracting the rest of his stooges just long enough for her to slip past them and slam into Draco. His head hit the wall as she pinned him with her wand pressed against her throat. Blood sliding down her chin, pain in her head, and furious that he would even think to do something utterly _disgusting_.

“Well, Draco, I can’t say I ever imagined you to push aside your pureblood mentality to need _four_ boys to take on one little mudblood,” she said coldly. “But I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re as much of a sniveling coward as you are.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips moved.

“Call them off Draco, or you’ll lose much more than your ability to speak.”

Draco glared at her, but nodded slowly.

“Good, _finite_ ,” she said hearing the way he gasped.

“You’re not going to get away with this you, filthy little mudblood,” he sneered. “I’ll make you pay for this--one way or another.”

Hermione shook her head, “You should really have a better script for these moments. I’m getting sick of hearing that one.”

“You won’t be sick to hear when I have you kicking and screaming for help and no one is around to save you.”

Her eyes grew dark and she spun out of the way as Crabbe launched himself at her, effectively  running into Draco against the wall and crashing on to the floor.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

“Incarcerous!” One of them managed as Goyle was frozen.

“Reflectum!”

She watched it rebound and smiled pointing her wand at Draco and Crabbe as they struggled to detangle themselves from one another.

“Incarcerous,” she said almost humorously, watching the ropes appear and bind them together.

“What is the meaning of this?” Severus asked coming down the hallway.

He’d heard a few of the spells being cast, but after the sounds didn’t die down, he left his office to see what on earth was going on. Somehow, he isn’t completely surprised to find his nephew and a host of Slytherin boys squirming around in ropes, petrified, or otherwise incapacitated around one Hermione Granger who only stood in the shadows.

“She--” Draco whined.

“Finite Incantatem,” he muttered with a flick of his wand as Hermione forced herself to be nonchalant. The act of subduing them all had probably taxed her beyond her abilities, at least beyond where her magical abilities should have been as a fourth year, but there was something else he was sure after seeing one of the boys with a smudge of blood on his face.

He told them to get back to their dorms while he had a talk with Hermione. Draco smirked triumphantly over his shoulder as they left. He waited until they were gone to look at her and assess her.

“Lumos,” he said lifting his wand and swallowing the gasp of shock.

Her injuries had not been so severe when she left his office. He thought she would definitely have a bit of a limp; however, he did not expect the black eye, the bruising jaw, the bruises on her legs and her labored breathing as she moved carefully to pick up her bag, struggling under its weight. She stowed her wand away with a stoic face, though he could tell from the speed at which she did so, that she’d injured her wrist, if not broken it. Her eyes were drooping, a cut on her temple-- she looked like hell.

“Sit,” he said gesturing to the low wall beside them. She walked stilted, careful and took a seat as he directed before he looked down at her, her bag on her shoulder, looking up at him.

“Perhaps if you didn’t carry around so many books,” Severus said lifting his wand. “You would not have taken so long to get away from the dungeons.”

She said nothing, though they both knew full well that most of the books in her bag at the moment were given to her by him to read for their next session and that no matter what she did, how unobscure she made herself, Draco would have attacked her sooner or later.

“Or are you so bent on getting yourself attacked?” Severus asked gesturing through the air with his wand, streams of light flowing over her.

“He was going to rape me,” Hermione told him softly, her voice distanced.

Severus stopped for a moment looking at her, knowing that she’d only read Draco’s intentions from his training and perhaps a gentle, low level probe into one of his stooge’s minds, knowing that Draco wouldn’t have been stupid enough to tell her that what was his intention. Knowing that because of him, he very well could have succeeded and done more damage than Severus ever could in their training sessions. He swallowed lowering his wand for a moment because… because he thinks of Lily. Thinks of the night a bunch of Slytherin would-be death eaters had cornered her and nearly succeeded in their monstrous intent if Severus hadn’t been there, blasting them from behind. He remembered how shocked she’d been to see him stepping out of the shadows to help her. Working silently to mend her injuries, to get her on her feet, to erase their memories and leaving them there. He’d walked her out of the dungeons under a disillusionment charm until they reached the corridor that would take her the safest path to Gryffindor tower.

She’d said nothing as he left, a whirl of cloak behind him. Said nothing in the days after, maybe still angry about that word he’d called her. The reason he had not even been able to say anything that night…

“If you think that I would have allowed such a thing,” Severus said. “I will assign your detentions with someone else henceforth.”

Hermione looked up at him, just her eyes as he began to cast the rest of the healing charms, for the pain, to heal her wrist and vanquish her bruises. He’s impressed that she only flinched and coughed a bit as her ribs snapped back into place and her lungs healed.

“Now go before curfew and do not use your Time Turner to avoid it.”

“Who was she?” Hermione asked looking at him. “The girl in the field.”

Severus turned slightly and let out a breath.

“She was Harry’s mother wasn’t she?”

He looked at her, steadily as she nodded and gave him her best smile before turning down the hallway.

“I don’t think she hated you,” she said. “In life or in death.”

Severus blinked, watching her walk down the corridor, “Oh… and Professor Snape?”

He looked at her, “Thank you… and no, I don’t think you would have.”

She went hustling down the hall then and he turned back towards his own chambers. His lips tilted in a bit of a smirk, a bit of the darkness cleared for a moment like he was laying beside Lily by the lake, talking about magic and the lives they wanted to live.

_You’ll always be my friend, won’t you Sev’?_

He remembered how much, even at that age, he’d meant it when he’d said, _Always_.

*

Hermione woke up feeling better than she had in a long time. She suspected it had in part to do with Severus’s healing and calming charms. Rather than dwelling on the hell of a night she’d had, she got out of bed, got ready for classes and headed to breakfast.  To her surprise, Ron and Harry were there scrambling to finish their potions essays that weren’t due… for at least a few days she was sure. She remember charming all of her essays so that the wax on them turned green when they were due that day. None of her fourth year essays, nor her private essays, had been.

“Boys,” she greeted. “Are you two alright?”

They nodded but continued writing before he looked over to Ginny who rolled her scroll together and sealed it.

“What’s going on? The three of you doing homework early?”

“Rumor is that there’s going to be a bit of friendly competition between the schools,” Ginny said.  “To replace our Quidditch games.”

“Oh?” She asked taking a seat. “Doing what?”

“A mixed team skirmish and a broom race.”

Hermione nodded, “Sounds… exciting. Hence the homework?”

“Well, we have to have time to practice!” Ginny said with a smile looking over to where Durmstrang sat at the Slytherin table. Per usual, they were chatting among themselves, laughing. Draco was glaring daggers across the room at Hermione.

The almost maddened covetous look on his face made her stomach turn and suddenly breakfast, no matter how many chocolate muffins were on the table, was no longer very high on her list of priorities.

“What’s got the Ferret’s wand in a knot?”

“The usual,” Hermione said, forcing herself to take a bite of an apple in hopes that it wouldn't upset her stomach. “Why?”

“He just seems to be glaring at you more than usual.”

She set the apple down on a plate and opened her bag to pull out a book.

 _Disgust, fear...strength_ \-- Viktor wasn’t sure what to make of that feeling in the back of his mind as he watched Hermione. She usually had relatively the same thing every morning: a bit of meat, usually beef, fruit, yogurt, and a chocolate muffin. Today, she’d only picked up an apple, taken a small bite and set it aside. Either she was becoming ill or something disturbed her greatly.

 _Disgust, want, hatred…._ Viktor winced, his own stomach turning uncomfortably as he tried to find the source of the feeling, looking around.

It was strange sometimes how this feeling appeared. If he was looking at someone, or generally paying attention to one person, it was usually strong. He’d only encountered a few people who tweaked his instincts even without his attention. He looked at Draco who was flushed with rage, his hand clenched tight around his silverware and glaring hard, covetous daggers across the tables at Hermione.

Why was he looking at her like that?

He looked at Aleksdandr who had been eyeing Malfoy warily, his hand gripped tight that meant he had his wand at the ready. Viktor looked down to see that his own wand was in the palm of his hand already as if something in him was preparing to have to hex Draco.

“Excuse me, Mr. Krum,”  he heard to his left.

“Is Viktor,” he said absently before turning to look at the woman. A professor of Hogwarts he was sure. “What can I do for you?”

Hermione took the chance of them being so focused to  slide her plate away from herself and reach for the cup of ginger ale she’d asked for. Draco’s stare had done more than just unnerved her, but seemed to be projecting his intentions, his thoughts and rage across the tables. Frazzled and having just started the beginning of Legilimency, she was susceptible to it. Images, her own crying face in her mind’s eye. She closed her eyes to try and draw up a block of some kind, but Severus hadn’t gotten to that part of the lesson.

The how to turn it off.

“Is that Madame Hooch?” Neville asked, they turned seeing the woman walk towards the Durmstrang side of the table and get the attention of Viktor and a few other members. She opened her eyes, glad to have something to focus on beyond the way her stomach churned.

“That’s her, wonder what she’s talking to them about.”

Whatever it was, it made Viktor smile and shake his head in agreement. Madame Hooch seemed to be confused for a moment before smiling and shaking his hand and leaving.

“I can bet,” Hermione said, swallowing her nausea. “Probably something to do with flying.”

Ginny nodded and then looked at Hermione, “Word has it that you have a bit of an _in_ with the Durmstrang boys? Something about galavanting around Hogsmeade with them?”

Hermione shrugged, “They needed help. They’re very sweet.”

Ginny pouted, “Leave it to you, Hermione to have an in with the influx of hot foreign guys and call them _sweet_.”

Hermione smiled, something a little vindictive in her and quickly blotting out Draco’s thoughts.

“So,” Ginny said changing the subject. “Are you going to the Yule Ball?’

Hermione nodded, “You?”

Ginny nodded with a grin and leaned forward, “Well, who are you going with?”

“That’s a secret,” she said pleasantly and stood, taking her bag as Ron scoffed.

“A secret,” Ron said. “Probably not worth keeping.”

“Still dateless Ron?” Hermione asked which made him turn red. “You have a dress yet, Ginny?”

“Mom’s sending me one,” she said. “You?”

“I’ll find something.”

“Better hurry up or all the good ones will be gone,” Ginny said. “Will you have time to help me with my Charms tonight?”

“For a bit, I think, but I’ve got a few things to finish up at the library after. Right after dinner good?”

Ginny nodded and then waved her goodbye. Ron drew her attention.

“You know who she’s going with don’t you?”

Ginny shook her head, “She hasn’t said anything to me… not that I would tell you if she did.”

Ron flushed and went back to glaring at his Potions essay. Hermione shrugged and headed off to class. She took her free period before Charms to head to the library. Though her stomach was no longer churning, it didn’t seem to be settled enough to eat anything either.

“Her-my-own-nee,”  she smiled, the oddity of her name being butchered so badly making her smile was not lost on her.

She looked up as he came to take a seat beside her on the other comfortable armchair and sighing gratefully.

“Hello Viktor, tired?”

“Am happy,” he said. “Flying on weekend. You will come, yes?”

She smiled, “So that’s more than just a rumor then?”

He shook his head, with a pleasant smile, “Madame Hooch ask for help teaching first years to fly. Karkaroff not want us to, but I agree and teammates agree.”

“From the National Team?”

“No Durmstrang Dragons,” he said and leaned over. “Play match with Hogwarts and race on weekend. You will come, yes?”

Hermione smirked, “Sounds like fun.”

“I know you no like Quidditch, but would mean much to me. Bring book if like.”

She met his eyes , her stomach flipping at the way he looked at her. Almost beseeching, but hopeful..he wanted her in the stands. Of all the fans he could have cheering for him, he wanted her there… whether she was reading a book during the match or not.

“A Quidditch pitch is hardly the place to read a book,” she said. “I’ll be there. If you’re lucky I’ll wear red.”

He blinked, his possessive streak surging and a distinctly primal male pleasure at the thought of her in his colors overtook him. At least until he realized that her house colors… were red and gold. He swallowed looking down, fumbling through his bag to find the food he’d brought for her after noticing that she hadn’t eaten at breakfast. It wasn’t her usual, but he’d managed to snag a chocolate muffin, a pear since she seemed to have an affinity for those over apples and a few sausages.

He found it and frowned before looking at her,“You… make joke, yes?”

She laughed, “A little.”

He sighed and lay back, “Must remember beautiful girl very witty.”

“Very,” she said. And looked at the wrapped parcel he extended to her.

“You did not eat at breakfast, brought food for you.”

Her lips lifted, her stomach seeming to remember that fact in that moment and waving the “I’m Hungry” flag viciously as she accepted the parcel and smiled at the contents.

“How’d you know I liked chocolate muffins?” Let alone pears and which sausages she preferred.

“Have been… watching you--studying you...Is not, how you say,... _creepy?_ ”

Hermione chuckled taking a bite of the pear, grinning at the fact that it was just ripe enough and freezing. She hadn’t even tested it… Since when had she trusted anyone that much since the last time she’d accepted something that was given to her and regretted it terribly?

“It’s not creepy, it’s rather sweet in this case. Harry usually reminds me to eat when I’m busy reading, but he and Ron never seem to realize, or really care, what I like.”

Viktor tilted his head. _Happy,_ _content--trust.._ but there was something else beneath it. Like a bitter tincture at the back of his mouth, growing stronger and burning like bile.

“You are… okay?” He asked. “You did not seem well at breakfast.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured. “Just… a bit of a night is all.”

“Had to do with Malfoy, yes?”

Hermione didn’t look at him, “It’s nothing.”

“You lie,” he pointed out. “I would break legs for you. Not chore at all--privelege”

She laughed and shook her head, “That is quite unnecessary. What about this match this weekend? Aren’t you missing a few people?”

He hesitated for a moment, but he went with his instinct. She needed a subject change before that bitterness grew any stronger. She ate though, so perhaps he would have to settle for this for now.

“Da,” he said. “Antonio is beater.  Desislav is Chaser. He is fifth year, back at Durmstrang. Marko is here, he is beater… Wish Cyrus, Keeper, was here, but too young like Desi’.”

“Cyrus, your roommate?”

He shook his head, “Is best. Wish he would play for Bulgaria, but not interested.”

His lips quirked at the memory. Cyrus had all around refused stating that they had enough packages of underwear in their room at any given time thanks to Viktor. He’d had a feeling that there was something more to it than that, but he didn’t say that to Cyrus.

“That good huh?”

He grinned, “would have won world cup with him--vicious.”

She laughed as he told her about Cyrus’s distinct ability to freak out people on a broom. He’d apparently freaked an upper classmen out during a game so badly that the other avoided Cyrus until he graduated. There had also been the fact that Cyrus was unequivocally talents with watching for bludgers. He could track a bludger across a field, catch quaffles easily.

“Is fast,” he said. “Good arm for catching...I--”

He cut himself off looking at her. Her expression indulgent and amused. Her book closed over her hand as she ate with her sausages with her other hand, a slight smile to her lips. He flushed and looked away.

“Am boring you?”

She shook her head, “No, but thanks for asking.”

Viktor eyed her for a moment, “You are sure?”

She nodded, “You don’t talk about the game so much as about the people you play it with. Far less boring. Besides, you promised to tell me about Cyrus.”

“I talk too much now, do not talk much other times, but with you I not shut up. Want you to know me but also want to know you, so your turn,” he insisted. “To talk. You have roommates yes?”

She snorted, “Yes, but we’re not exactly close.”

“Why?”

“Well…” she thought about it for a moment. There was Ginny of course who she looked at like a sister. They didn’t talk much unless it was about school or the boys that Hermione spent most of her time with, but she considered them good friends.

“Ginny… is red haired girl, yes? Sister of Ron?”

“Yes, then there’s Padma and Lavender.”

He blinked and frowned, “Lavender… wear balls in hair, yes? Blonde? Fluff in head?”

“Yes…You know her?”

“She has put… _things_ in my books for a week straight. Threw them at me.”

“She _threw_ things at you?” Hermione gawked. She’d never known Lavender to be particularly violent, but as Viktor flushed.

“Was not… dangerous things...just...awkward.”

Hermione bit back a smile and took a deep breath, “Viktor.”

“I do not wish to speak of it.”

“Did she…”

“Do not wish,” he said again, his blush growing brighter as he looked away.

“Did she throw her _knickers_ at you?”

His face turned red, cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears and she couldn’t help it, trying to smother her laughing with her hand.

“Were they red?”

He glowered at her, “Green.”

“Ooh,” she said with a nod. “You should feel important, that’s her favorite color.”

“Do not feel anything, just awkward.”

Hermione snorted, “My, my Viktor, I would have never known you were the type to have women throwing their knickers at you.”

“On me,” he said with a nod. “From top of bookcase… in books… in letters.”

“Perhaps they think lace would look good on you?”

His jaws dropped, “You sound like Cyrus.”

She beamed at him, “A nice lacy red.”

“Stop it.”

“Bit of satin…” She teased as he smothered his blushing face in his hands and let out a sigh.

“Beautiful girl tease me about wearing women's underwear… what is life coming to?”

“Hogwarts,” she said. “Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.”

He managed an incredibly flat look despite his flush and sat back, “What are you reading?”

“Changing the subject?” Hermione quipped. “A little too _exposed?_ ”

“Is terrible.”

She giggled, surprising herself and him. It somehow didn’t grind his nerves the way giggling usually did, a pleasant mischievous sound in his ears.

“It’s called _Aquatic Life in the Black Sea,_ ” she said with a shrug holding it up for him to read the spine. “Light reading.”

He nodded, “Thousands of pages. Not light.”

Hermione shrugged, “I usually get through a book like this in a night.”

He stared at her, “wish you to teach me. Would make studying easier…”

“I’m sure it’s easier in Bulgarian, right?”

He shook his head, “Much.”

He eyed the book for a moment, pulling out his wand.

“ _Prizovavam, Vodnite Organizmi v Cherno More._ ”

Hermione turned watching the book fly towards him and into his hand before setting the book on the edge of the chair.

“Getting comfy with the books, huh?”

“Is original of book,” Viktor said. “Perhaps would like translation?”

Her eyes sparkled, grinning, “I’d… like it more if you could teach me.”

“You… want to learn Bulgarian?”

She nodded, “I’ve always wanted to learn more languages… and since you’re making such an effort to speak in English, I thought I should at least try. You shouldn’t carry the full burden of our conversations.”

He blinked at her, amazed as she went on about the fact that she’d read somethings, learned the alphabet, but she was a little stuck on pronunciation. His last girlfriend had insisted that he never speak in Bulgarian around her as she preferred Greek or English. Sure, he was fluent in Greek that he could pass for a native, but English was not so easy. She’d chided him on his pronunciation and got frustrated when he couldn’t get the sounds to fit in his mouth…. She never bothered to even ask or try to learn Bulgarian, or anything that was a little closer to his native language than Greek.  Here Hermione was… asking him to teach her so they could communicate better. She’d tried, but books would only tell her so much without being able to speak it.

“I… am not best teacher.”

She smiled, “Somehow I don’t think that’s true. _V-vie ste mnogo… mil s men._ ”

He swallowed a thick heat pooling in his stomach at the sound of her voice speaking his native language. He stared at her in shock. She sounded… hesitant, hopeful and though the words were incredibly innocent, it made him feel like she’d shoved a hand in his pants without the normal spike of terror alongside it.

“Did I say it right?”

He shook his head slowly as she worried her lip.

“Why are you… staring at me like that?”

“Surprised,” he said softly. “Perhaps… brain is.. how do you say… damaged? Fried?”

She laughed, “I didn’t think I said anything worthy of frying your brain…”

“No,” he nodded. “Is not words, is sound...Sound beautiful. Am long way away from home.”

A very long way away from where he would hear the words of his country from the lips of a woman who appealed to him as the women of Durmstrang were physically of the North and spoke Norwegian, German sometimes…. It was the reason that he had the friends that he did. Petya and Antonio, Cyrus too, had been willing to learn and quick studies. Aleksandr had given fair trade with this artic blonde hair and ice blue eyes.

She looked down to her lap before looking up at him hesitantly, “Viktor…”

Her voice trailed off as he looked at her, an incredibly intense moment for such a simple compliment.  He looked as though he was reading her mind and exactly what his words were doing to her. Hermione isn’t sure if she’s grateful or disappointed at the sound of the French accent calling her name.

“ _Hermione, ou es-tu?_ ”

Viktor looked up expecting a Beauxbaton student to come around the corner, but there was, instead, a dark haired boy with deep green eyes and glasses carrying a book that was almost too big for him to get a hold on. Viktor almost smiles seeing him. He was pretty sure he’d never seen an eleven year old so small, decked out in yellow. It made him want to carry the kid around on his back and tell him stories of whatever he wanted to know about.

“Peter, _par ici. Qu’est-ce que dans vore main?_ ” She asked turning her head as he shuffled over and hauled the book onto the small table beside she and Viktor and he went back to staring at her, a very different rush at the sound of her voice speaking french, smooth and unhurried.

What else could her voice do to him? He wondered if perhaps, in her family line, there had been a bit of siren blood in there from the way her voice seemed to soothe and stroke his passions all at once. The little boy adjusted his glasses and flipped open the book. Without reading French, he could tell it was about broom flying, about Quidditch.

“Hold on just a second, Viktor,” she said, setting her book aside to join the younger student on the floor, looking at the book and presumably asking him questions.

 _Nervous,_ he gathered from the place beside where he read the wind currents from. _Scared…_

Viktor moved to join them on the other side, the boy, Peter, he guessed so focused on his terror that he hadn’t noticed Viktor yet even as Hermione rubbed his back and coaxed him to calm down.

“Shh... _ca ira_ ,” she soothed as he sniffled a bit and shook his head, his hands shaking.

“Is scared of flying?” Viktor asked, Hermione looked up and so did Peter, flushing and a host of French spilling out of his mouth. Hermione smiled humorously.

“He’s… more afraid because his English isn’t that good yet. He’s from a muggle family, like me. He’s never rode a broom before. He thought perhaps reading about it might help.”

He couldn’t imagine the difficulty of learning a new language as well as finding out that you’re a wizard from people who loved you but could not help you.

Viktor nodded, “Broom is not something you can read about. You are in Madame Hooch’s class tomorrow, yes?”

Peter blinked, his brow turning down with concentration, “Y-yes.”

Viktor stood and offered him a hand, “A lesson before tomorrow? May help you not be so nervous.”

Peter blinked looking to Hermione for an explanation. She told him soothingly that Viktor was offering to give him a lesson before tomorrow. Peter looked up at Viktor.

“Uhm… sure?”

Viktor shook his head, closing the book and pulling him along. Hermione following after to make sure Peter wouldn’t be completely lost. They ended up in the courtyard just after the midday break began. Students filled the hallway, watching Viktor lead Peter outside towards the mostly empty courtyard. They stopped so Viktor could pull out his broom.

“Well-tempered broom,” Viktor told him setting it on the ground. “First, rule is…”

Hermione hung back watching him and Peter interact. Both of them using their rudimentary knowledge of English to communicate, asking Hermione to translate in pieces.  Eventually, Peter was standing over the broom, commanding it “up”, but it only struggled a bit off the ground.

“Must trust broom,” Viktor advised. “Do not fear.”

Peter looked over to Hermione who smiled and nodded before taking a deep breath and trying again. The broom lifted slowly into his hand as girls swarmed the courtyard, whispering about Viktor letting a first year use his broom, giving him pointers. Viktor didn’t seem to notice they had an audience even as Petya came over to nudge Hermione for answers.

When she told him about Peter, he smiled, “Viktor always adopt little siblings where he can.”

Hermione smiled over at him with Peter, coaxing Peter to make the brom hover and keeping a hand on the broom as he talked him through it. Girls sighed whispering about how _manly_ he was.

“He’s so caring.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. They knew nothing about him.

“Viktor… what are you doing?”

“I told him I would take him flying,” Viktor said, mounting the broom and casting an anchoring spell as well as a roping spell to keep Peter on the broom with him.

“Ready?” Viktor asked over his shoulder.

“Y-Yes?” Peter said and Hermione had a feeling that he wouldn’t be ready.

Viktor made the broom go up above the courtyard and Hermione only laughed at the way Peter screamed at the height, yelling in French.

“What is he saying?” Petya asked.

“He’s begging Viktor not to let him fall.”

Petya laughed watching Viktor make a few laps around the courtyard before shooting up into the sky towards the Black Lake. Hermione smiled hearing Peter’s screams of terror and joy as Viktor flew them around before bringing them back to the courtyard and undoing the enchantment to let Peter off the broom behind him. He swung off his broom with a familiar grace and placed a hand on Peter’s back trying to soothe, him and convince him to breathe. His glasses were all messed up, but he was smiling.

“Not so scary, yes?”

Peter nodded, “Fun.”

He grinned.

“Oh no you don’t,” Hermione said. “No being converted.”

Peter laughed and thanked Viktor for the lesson before grabbing his bag and scrambling off to class. Petya came over to him and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve just increased your fanbase.”

“What?” Viktor asked before looking around the courtyard and groaning at the droves of girls and the absence of the one he wanted to see.

“Where did she go?”

Petya smirked, “Into the hall to direct the boy to class. She gave me your bag though, something about a Lavender lurking where you put it.”

He snorted and shrunk his broom again. After dinner, he found her in the library, pouring over charms books with Ginny at her usual table a bunch of other students around her. She moved between them easily talking to them while Viktor and the rest of his usual entourage took up residence at another table.

“Is she a tutor?” Aleksandr asked.

“An informal one, I’m sure,” VIktor said tearing his eyes away from the way she gave a younger student a high five after they’d managed the wand movement.

The students were from a myriad of houses, but all looked at her with that same sparkle. _Happiness, relaxed…belonging..._

“They’re all mugle-born students,” Viktor said.

“How  do you know that?” Petya asked, his familiar Romanian rolling over Viktor’s senses.

“The way they look at her, they look up to her.”

“I wonder how long that will last for the snake house,” Antonio said, a flutter of Greek behind him.

“I don’t think she cares,” Viktor said watching the way she talked to them. Peter appeared to join the study session, smiling and hauling another book too big for him to the table.

It was such an intimate scene. Hermione clearly being the older influence, taking command and not abusing their respect for her as she taught them. She looked up to see him staring at her and smiled pleasantly before her attention was taken by a question from a Ravenclaw girl.

“You are really taken,” Petya remarked without looking up.

“Shut up, Petya.”

A few hours later, she’d sent them off to their respective dormitories and taken a seat with a sigh across from Ginny who was finishing up as well. They exchanged hugs, a thank you, and an “I owe you so much chocolate” before Hermione was alone, picking up her bag to walk over to their table, carrying the two books they’d had earlier.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten out of teaching me good sir.”

Viktor smirked and gestured to the chair beside him, “Never.”

The rest of the table doesn’t comment, but hides their smiles in their own homework as Viktor goes through the alphabet and some of the more tricky pronunciations first. Sentence structure, a little vocabulary and she’d formed a whole new sentence.

“ _I appreciate you teaching me,_ ” she said looking at him hopefully. “ _I hope we will be comrades for a long time._ ”

“Me too,” he replied easily his heart light as she grinned and Aleksandr clapped.

“She is natural. We’ll have to speak vampire  to keep her out of the conversation soon.”

“Or Viking.”

Petya glowered at him, mumbling in Romanian as Hermione thanked Viktor, “For Peter… He’s had it rather hard.”

Viktor nodded, “Is good kid.”

She nodded, “He is. Brilliant, he’ll be just fine. I have detention to get to, I’ll see you all later.”

“Hermy-own-nee,” Viktor started and she stopped.

“You have… you are Apprentice, yes?”

She froze, “What?”

“For… Potions Master,” he asked.  “McGonagall, Healer, and Goblin man?”

She swallowed stepping closer to him and leaning down, “How did you--”

“They watch over you,”  Viktor said. “Especially Potions Master.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” she said gripping his hand, tightly, desperately. “You can’t tell.”

Viktor shook his head, “Would not tell. Is special bond to have… Honor. Only… wanted to know for sure. Not sure why you hide it as detention.”

Hermione swallowed, “It’s… complicated.”

“Potter,” Viktor said looking at her. “For him?”

Hermione let out a breath and looked up at the clock.

“Go,” he said. “Must not be late.”

Hermione looked at him warily, but rushed out anyway.

“English are very weird,” he said in English.

The rest of his comrades nodded, “Very.”

*

She more hears about the Durmstrang assistance with the first year’s flying practice than sees it. She hears how amazing Viktor  is with the first years, how they love him and the rest of the Durmstrang boys. First year girls, sigh in wonder and something like infatuation at the thought of them and Peter seems more confident than ever. Apparently, having a private lesson and Viktor already knowing his name had gained him a lot of points among his peers who were more into Quidditch.

Madame Hooch adored them as they were a great help when people fell off their brooms and injured themselves, knowing at least basic healing spells. They were such a hit in fact that there were a few of them in each section helping out and fostering “international” cooperation.

The Beauxbatons had taken up helping with charms classes for lower years. Boys sighed in something like infatuation and wonder at the French speaking women who helped them with their wand movements. She almost laughed since Professor Flitwick was overjoyed to have someone else around to help when first years managed to blow themselves up. At dinner, Dumbledore announced the two-day long competition the next day that they would be taking members of each school, and mixing them on two Quidditch teams for a scrimmage match and four teams for the broom relay race.

“Wouldn’t be fair if Viktor got picked,” Ron said almost elated.

The mixes were even, none of the champions were chosen for the scrimmage, but each of the champions were placed on a racing team. Viktor’s team consisted of Ginny, Cho Chang, and three other girls. Hermione could almost hear him groaning. Fleur’s team had been all male. Harry and Cedric’s team had been evenly distributed. She almost laughed. As each team were given the banner of the school they’re champion was from. Harry and Cedric taking their house colors to do so.

Ginny only beamed, “On the same team as Viktor Krum? Ron’s probably _burning_.”

Hermione didn’t doubt that as the schools filed into the Pitch. The Quidditch Match was first, ending relatively quickly with one of Durmstrangs students snatching the snitch out of the air winning the game for his team. Viktor cheered loud and proud along with the rest of the Durmstrang students who roared across the pitch into the midday wind.

“Durmstrang! Durmstrang! Durmstrang!”

The next day, Hermione laughed, shaking her head, as the pitch was cleared at the racing obstacles were put together. It looked rather difficult but she watched Viktor pull his team together at the far side of the pitch, the others did much of the same. Ron seethed.

“Ginny shouldn’t be down there! It should be me! Bet she’s pouring it on thick too.”

Hermione shook her head as Ginny mounted her broom, a scarf of Durmstrang around her neck, marking her a part of Viktor’s team. He cheered with the rest of her team, the rest of Gryffindor as the buzzer was set off and Ginny steered herself forward. Hermione screamed as Ginny raced past, neck and neck with Fleur’s starter, Harry’s and Cedric’s just behind. The racing track changed as they flew through it, impeding their progress, making the lap longer than it was supposed to be sometimes. Ginny had given Viktor’s team the lead, but they were hard pressed to keep it between the two nervous looking girls who were clearly not meant to be the epitome of grace on a broom.

“Go,” Viktor told Cho. “I will make up time.”

Cho gave him a wary look, but mounted her broom and waited until the girl dismounted before racing off. Harry’s second to last got a penalty for taking off to early. While the course Cho was meant to take seemed to intentionally difficult as she had to double back to go through the proper hoop at least three time, effectively making them fall behind.

Viktor mounted his broom, keeping his eyes on the hoops as Cho came racing back. When her feet hit the ground he took off, corkscrewing through the air. His mind quiet, only watching the current of air, the movement of the hoops and following them, pressing his body to the broom and feeling all else fall away.

He flew past their section of the stands, spinning as he past causing people to cry out at the force of his windstream.

“What kind of broom is that?” Ron asked. “That’s not his standard racing broom.”

Hermione smiled, cheering as he passed Fleur, then Cedric and finally got neck and neck with Harry.

Harry looked back for a moment, urging his Firebolt to go faster, but he couldn’t shake Viktor who was clearly the better flyer… It didn’t help that Harry’s hoop jerked aside and flipped him off his broom.

“Harry!” She heard herself scream, as everyone gasped. Viktor dipped, curving to catch Harry on the back of his broom, spiralling into another corkscrew to shoot past Cedric at the last minute winning the race.

Durmstrang, for their small numbers, had the loudest voices, echoing across the pitch, loud and raucous.

“Dumb Krum,” she heard from her left and whipped around. “The Irish are still better.”

“He is not dumb, he saved Harry’s life and you’ve never even spoken to him, don’t be such a child.”

Fred gawked at her as she turned around seeing Viktor drift down and Harry summon his broom from across the pitch.

“Thanks… You… you didn’t have to.”

“Would have hurt Her-my-own if you hurt,” Viktor said. “And not good to let others be hurt if can help.”

Harry wondered which was the more important reason as Viktor’s team swarmed him, mostly Ginny raving at how amazing he was before hugging Harry telling him that she would have killed him if he was injured.

“Thanks Gin’.”

She pulled back as Colin came up to get pictures of the winning team and their prizes were presented: medals for the win.

“What kind of broom is that?” Ginny asked. “I can’t recognize it. It isn’t a Firebolt is it?”

Viktor looked at his broom, “Is best broom. Angelov.”

She’d never heard of that company, but would be sure to look them up as he shrunk his broom and told them that it was probably time to celebrate now. In the middle of dinner, mingling Viktor found Hermione.

“Quite impressive,” she said. “Thank you... for saving Harry.”

“Is beautiful girl’s best friend. Make me look better.”

Hermione laughed, “I don’t think there is anything that could make you look better.”

Viktor smirked as she bade him goodbye to talk with Ginny. He would take that as a compliment,  watching her with a grin.


	9. Do The Hippogriff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The almost perfunctory Yule Ball chapter... beware it's a long one.

His pride was burned, his godfather’s scolding in his ears. All for her, that stupid mudblood. What was so special about her that Severus would scold him that way? What was so bloody remarkable about the bushy-haired Know-It-All?

_ Do not be so foolish as to think that your father’s name would save you should you be caught physically harming the Know-It-All. _

He scoffed as if he would have been caught! Hermione would never have told a soul about what could have happened if they’d just gotten her bloody wand from her. 

_ Do not disgrace yourself in an attempt to gain favor with your father. _

He’d wanted to protest, but Severus had always known him best. Lucius was not interested in Draco as more than an heir, his mother was the one who was always fretting over him. 

_ Be attracted to her usefulness, to her even, but do not be so out of contact with your emotions to destroy yourself. It is not a road I would advise you to tread. _

He glared at the ground between his feet,  _ Attracted to Granger? _ Severus couldn’t be serious to think that was the case. He threw a rock and stood, pacing at the idea. He wasn’t attracted to her, that bushy-haired Know-It-All who’d shown up and stolen the top spot from him though he was raised in the wizarding world, with the best education Galleons could by and she literally knew  _ nothing _ before her letter from Hogwarts.  His cheeks were flushed as he glared into the darkness of the lake. 

She was…

She was--

Smart, he gave her that. Intelligent, smart as whip and --

He was a Malfoy, he would never--

A sound distracted him from his thoughts. The sound of skates on ice, whirling wind and panting.  He turned frowning at the sound and heading towards it. After struggling with the underbrush for a second, she came into view. One leg up, arms out in fists at her sides, head tilted down beneath a band of metal on top of her head that looked like earmuffs. Her hair was tied up, the tamest he’d ever seen it and she was just spinning. 

Spinning on the ice so fast that he felt a little dizzy watching her. She brought her arms up and down, pressing her palms to her chest before leaning back and lifting her leg to arch back towards the lifted skate. 

He’s heard of the muggle sport of ice-skating in Muggle Studies. Dainty, feminine figures gliding along on the ice, sometimes with partners in a  graceful dance. It was a sport he didn’t understand. The lack of usefulness in the skill and the lack of clothing skaters wore on the ice... He was a hormonal teenage boy so he could appreciate the exposure of skin, but that was all. He certainly hadn’t thought of Hermione as even remotely related to the seemingly frivolous sport. 

However, there she was moving out of the spin and into gliding, skating backwards on the ice seeming to only take pleasure in moving faster, leaping higher over the ice and landing as gracefully as she’d taken off. 

Who knew? Granger, the Ice Princess. 

He could almost see her in one of those glittering leotards skating… Skating for him if he’d let himself have that moment of fancy. He bit his lip watching her, swallowing whatever insanity was going to come bumbling out as she skated. There’s something so utterly carefree and easy in the way she glided across the ice.

Something beautiful and radiant and--

“Draco?!”

He flinched pulling back and running, trying to clear his head and arriving at the edge of the forest where Crabbe and Goyle were looking for him. 

“Are you bumbling buffoons lost?’

They grumbled, shuffling their feet before he took the lead away from the Black Lake, away from Hermione Granger, and away from the thoughts that had been creeping in his mind. 

When he sees her later, rushing out of the forest, the feeling, the thoughts are still there, but he can’t get them past the loathing weighing down his tongue. 

“Late, mudblood?” Is what he said. She stopped for a moment to find him with her eyes before turning and hurrying away. 

He thinks that it’s the very first time that she’s ever truly ignored him and trying to figure out why it makes his insides churn uncomfortably is an action that he isn’t willing to take at the moment. 

*

“Hermione!” Antonio waved at the edge of Hogsmeade, grinning at her. 

“Hello Antonio,” she said as he offered her his arm.

“Come,” he said. “I have been given the honor of escorting you today.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, “It’s a surprise, Viktor knows nothing, so we have to keep it a secret.”

She looked at him wryly as he led her into the village and to the Three Broomsticks, past the room and into the large fireplace.

He grinned grabbing a bit of floo powder to give to her and stepping out, “The name on the letter. They will take care of you.”

She frowned and read the name clearly before dropping the floo powder, closing her eyes against the rushing in her ears before landing in what she could only describe as an temple villa from what she’d read of Greek architecture.

“Ah, you are Hermione, yes?”

She looked to the beautiful dark haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to Antonio. She was clearly older but held those same Grecian features as he did.

“Yes… I… I’m sorry to have just--”

“Don’t be silly, my girl,” she said, taking her arm and leading her away from the fireplace. “I’m Aella, Antonio’s eldest sister. I also happen to be a designer of clothing, wizarding and muggle. Antonio writes to tell me you are attending the Yule Ball with Vitya.”

She nodded, “Yes… that is all true.”

“Well, you have come to the right place. No one will look more bewitching than you come the ball,”she said. “Do not worry about a thing. Vitya is a close friend. Saved Antonio’s life, they have been best friends ever since. My sisters and I owe him greatly, our little brother is precious to us. We will take care of you.”

She nodded smiling as the woman led her through the magnificent halls, the smell of the Aegean Sea drifting in between the columns as she led her deeper into the building. Slowly, Hermione realized that she’d come in to Aella’s home rather than her workshop. They made it to a more private room.

A house elf there who smiled at them both, greeting them. 

“Miss Aella, will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you Mira, go on and enjoy the rest of your day.”

She apparated away as Aella guided Hermione up to the fitting stool and summoned her tape measure. She removed her outer robes as Aella requested  She was nice. Asking her about her preferences, taking her measurements and glancing over her. Hermione swallowed looking away knowing that she wasn’t much to look at and she knew next to nothing about dress robes besides the fact that they were the formal wear of the wizarding world.

“My has Viktor chosen a pretty one,” she said. “A late bloomer, I’m sure. How old are you dear?”

She licked her lips, “Fifteen...”

_ Technically, _ she didn't know if the time turner necessarily made her older.

She blinked looking at Hermione, “Not so much a late bloomer as young then. I’m surprised… Antonio tells me Viktor has seen you doing Auror level magic…”

Hermione looked away, “I read a lot.”

Aella laughed, “You sound so much like Vitya, no wonder he is so taken with you. Do you plan to tell him? He is under the impression that you are a seventh year.”

“Of course,” she said. “I… When we met, I had not imagined that--”

“He would be interested in you beyond how you did whatever you did?” Aella asked smiling and stepping to her as her measuring tape took the proper measurements. “My dear, Vitya is not interested much in the appearance of things, but the substance… You have enchanted him as far as Antonio tells me… and I have a feeling you will be good for him.”

She wined, “I do not believe he will be so happy to know I am four years younger than he is.”

She scoffed, “Three, dear and you underestimate your appeal, Hermione. No worries…”

Aella helped her down and led her into the cupboard, “Pick your fabric. Anything.”

She swallowed but did as she asked under Aella’s watchful eye. There were so many colors, so many fabrics that she really had no idea what she was looking for until she saw it. A beautiful blue, not quite periwinkle and picked up feeling how light it was. 

“You have good taste,” Aella said with a smile, flicking her finger so the roll of fabric came flying out, wrapped with her measurements, her name and address there as well. 

They went a little farther down the hall where she met the other nine sisters, all sharing the same near overwhelming beauty. Aella was the head of the Nine Muses brand as head designer for robes. Cynisca’s talents lie in shoes, Athena in accessories. She didn't catch the other's names, but she gathered that they were more gifted in the running and promotion of the business, securing clients and vendors for fabrics...perhaps making their own. They all hugged her, pinching her cheeks and telling her how excited they were to hear that Viktor had taken a liking to a girl. She tried for a moment to protest the treatment she was sure wasn't standard as they continued to take her measurements, look through the jewelry they had on hand for comparison. Aella scolded her once, her sisters standing firmly in favor of the scolding and she apologized. 

It was strange really. They talked and laughed, it felt like what she always imagined having older sisters would be like. Caring, loving with a liberal amount of teasing.

“Viktor has done well,” One of the sisters said, Helena she thought from the conversation. “Snatching you up now before you get older.”

“What do you mean?”

“Helena is our stock advisor, she has a bit of Pythia in her,” Aella said.

“You do not know it yet, but you will blossom dear Hermione,” Helena told her with a smile. “And then you'll never worry about not being a  _ good one _ ever again. The love of two dragon hearts is something not easily won.”

Aella’s eyes widened at Helena’s knowing smirk.

“Your days of despair will be repaid seven times over with happiness and love...For every heartbreak, there will be joy. Remember this for when it seems darkest.”

Hermione nodded. She knew a bit about Pythia, a witch with strong powers of Divination,  but she had never really believed in it.

“Your gown and things will arrive the day of and adjust appropriately,” Aella said as she guided Hermione back to the fireplace. “You will fly I promise you that. Take Helena’s words to heart. While the future is by nature ever changing, she has never been wrong.”

She let out a breath, Aella smiling at her and giving her a quick hug, “Brave heart, dear and get going. Feel free to write if you have any questions, okay?”

She nodded and took a breath before thanking her, taking her business card and calling out the name of the Three Broomsticks, rematerializing in the fireplace. Not to her surprise, Antonio was still there, at the bar with Aleksandr and Petya, laughing before waving her over and ordering her a butterbeer. 

“Your sisters are very nice,” Hermione said taking a seat between them after Petya moved over. “And very beautiful.”

“They’ll take good care of you,” Antonio said with a grin. “Aella loves Viktor almost as much as she loves me. They all do...”

Petya laughed, “Insufferable, yes?”

Antonio winced, “It is because she is the oldest and I am the youngest. She is protective of all of us because she feels responsible since we have no other family.”

Hermione’s eyes turned sad a comforting hand on Antonio’s hand, “I’m sorry.”

“I am not, they belong in Azkaban.”

She blinked and Antonio grinned, “Do not be surprised. It isn’t a big deal. Did she tell you how I met Viktor?”

She shook her head, “Just mentioned that he saved your life.”

Antonio nodded looking away, maybe staring into his past as he told her. His parents had been Death Eaters, the house that she’d arrived in had been bequeathed to his eldest sister for when she became of age. It was very much steeped in magic and would have been a great stronghold if their grandparents had bequeathed it to them. His parents had killed them for it, but in their death the will became absolute, unchangeable as the estate in Greece would not answer to anyone but Aella. 

“She sent my sisters to the house for safety, but they had already sent me away… giving me away in a sense. They did not count on a little Greek boy running so fast especially not in the cold of Bulgaria. Viktor was flying nearby and he carried me away… We were all of ten years old, but he’d seen Death Eaters before…”

He grinned, “Even then he was magic on a broom, he’s only gotten better.”

Hermione nodded, looking at her drink, “Interestingly enough, he recognized me from Durmstrang.”

Hermione nodded, “He flew us all the way to Greece to the arms of my sisters who were prepared to march into battle… all of them.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Just the nine you met,” he said. “I call them the muses.”

She laughed at that, “Not a bad idea. They've made quite a name for themselves.”

Antonio nodded, “They are protective, lovely though… and they love Viktor like a little brother.”

Hermione nodded, she could tell. 

“They are much better than his brothers.”

Hermione looked at him, “Brothers?”

Antonio nodded, “He’s got six of them. He’s the youngest….”

“And he’s the most famous.”

Hermione winced, “I don’t have any siblings.”

“Could be worse,” Petya said. “You could be the eldest.”

Antonio laughed, “Yes, with the terror that are the twins…”

“Twins?”

“My little sisters are terrors,” Petya explained. “Manipulative… have whole family wrapped around their fingers.”

Hermione laughed, “How old are they?”

“One.”

Aleksandr laughed, “They’re supposed to have everyone in their hands. They’re adorable.”

“Don’t encourage them… they may hear it.”

Despite his groaning, there was no malice in Petya’s voice, but a fondness. He had a rather small family, but they were very loving. Much of the same was true for Aleksandr who was the middle child of three and always playing referee between the youngest and oldest.

“They are the worst,” Aleksandr said. “I am glad that I will not be heading back for Christmas this year.”

Hermione laughed at that, “A headache?”

“And spells flying through the air. We are all only one year apart…”

Hermione winced, she could imagine it being a lot like the Weasley household: never a dull moment.Eventually, Viktor appeared, curious as to what was going on, but they all said they found Hermione here and decided to keep her company while waiting for him. There were other words exchanged in Norwegian, Bulgarian, and Greek, but she didn’t understand them. She gathered that they were teasing Viktor at his flushing scowl, but was happy to walk back with them to the castle. It was two weeks before the Yule Ball and Hogsmeade was filled with hustling and bustling patrons. Giggling girls going in and out shops to get ready, following Viktor around whenever he was visible. 

She hadn’t seen Ron or Harry except for classes since their little dispute in study hall, but she hardly noticed when the Durmstrang boys seemed to enjoy her company more than Harry or Ron ever seemed to. They talked about their families, plans once they left school. They never asked once how she knew such advanced spells, why she would need to, but grinned and shared some things that they’d created on their own. Sometimes, they would just sit and read quietly, talk about classes, spells they were learning, techniques. She found out that dueling was a favorite pastime at Durmstrang and got to watch them go at it. Clearly, Viktor was the better dueler of the four, giving them pointers and instruction while whoever was taking a break talked to her about her dueling knowledge. He’d blasted all three of his friends in dueling at least twice before  she was pulled on to her feet. Harry and Ron would be utterly horrified to know that they were using the snowed over Quidditch pitch.

“Come on,” Petya pleaded. “Duel with us?”

She rolled her eyes and stood earning their cheering as Viktor stepped back and looking to his mischievous friends who’d set her up to duel him. She adjusted her scarf and took a deep breath.

“What?” Viktor asked looking at them.

“Come on then,”Antonio said. “Since you could not compete with her in the tournament.”

Viktor winced not sure if he really wanted to duel Hermione. It just didn’t seem right.

“You may be hurt.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, setting her stance, light on her toes and ready, “I promise I’ll be just fine.”

Viktor looked at her, “I am not so sure about this.”

“Is this chivalry talking?” Hermione asked.

Viktor nodded vigorously, holding up his hands in surrender, “May hurt pride to lose, may make you angry perhaps to win. Loss in both cases.”

“No grudges,” she promised. “Now let’s see what you’ve got Triwizard Champion?”

He sighed, realizing that he wasn’t getting out of this before setting his stance and waiting for Antonio to announce that they could begin. 

“Go!”

Hermione grinned, swiping silently at his initial attacks, cancelling them out then throwing out a few of her own, watching him deflect them as the boys made surprised noises and they circled one another, waiting for one of them to slip up. 

Apparently, it was Viktor who decided that they’d done enough playing around, because then his wand hand swiped sure and deft strokes, spells sometimes tumbling from his mouth, sometimes not while Hermione swiped them the aside, deflecting them up all while building her own spell.

“She is good,” Petya said. “Are we sure we can’t take her to Durmstrang with us? She’s holding her own against Viktor after all.”

Antonio nudged him, “I am sure…”

The wind picked up carrying snow adrift and all of a sudden they both vanished. The blasts of magic being the only marker that they were still there among the drifting white, voices sounding out in the snowdrift, drawing closer until the two wands went flying towards them both disillusionment enchantments broken before Viktor went flying back at Hermione’s raised hand. 

Hermione’s eyes widened and then she looked at her hand in wonder and surprise before calling her wand to her as Viktor stood and dusted himself off, walking over to grab his wand. 

“Well… pride survive… You do wandless, non-verbal magic…”

Hermione winced, closing her fist and perking up at the sound of the bell, “I…. I have class. I’ll catch you all later.”

“Wait, you win prize!”

Hermione had already grabbed her bag and streaked off through the snow back towards the castle. Petya looked at Viktor. 

“You should keep her,” he said with a nod. “She’s amazing.”

Viktor shoved him, stowing his wand away and grabbing his cloak and bag to head back to the castle, where they also had class. 

Hermione’s heart is pounding, her head filled with buzzing as she paced the corridor outside of Albus’s office. It wasn’t normal. Definitely wasn’t normal and more importantly, what should she do?

“Miss Granger, I imagine you would like to come in eventually…”

She let out a breath and strolled in, taking the seat across the desk from him. 

“Tell me what’s bothering you, Miss Granger.”

“I… I was… dueling.” An eyebrow lifted, “for fun. No harm, just practice… and well… We disarmed each other at the same time and I… well I kind of blasted him back.”

Both eyebrows went up, “I take it that your opponent is alright?”

“Yes, of course, just a little wet from the snow. What do I do? That’s never happened before.”

“Well Miss Granger, you seemed to have performed wandless non-verbal magic… rather advanced for your year, but I think we both know there is a reason for it… Who did you blast if I may ask?”

“Viktor Krum.”

He nodded sagely, “I see. And your source of worry is?”

“I have yet to tell him that I’m a fourth year? And I’ve already… well been seen doing rather high-level magic. He saw me at the World Cup.”

“I do not think you have much to worry about.  From what I have gathered of Mr. Krum he is very different than his headmaster Karkaroff…”

Hermione worried her lip and nodded, yes she’d gathered that too, “It’s… not strange perhaps? To do such things?”

“Wizards of the highest order do such things, consider it strange? You are very well the Brightest Witch Of Your Age… Most are not able to achieve such feats until well into their thirties or so.”

She looked down.

“Do not fear such abilities, they will come in handy when you need them most, Miss Granger.”

She nodded, standing, “Thanks, Professor… I believe I needed to hear that.” 

“Will you be attending the Yule Ball?”

Hermione nodded,”Wonderful, I am glad Mr.Weasley has managed to--”

“Not with Ron.”

He went quiet looking at her, clearly not expecting her to say so.

“Or anyone from Gryffindor.”

“Well...I hope you enjoy yourself either way.”

Hermione nodes standing before leaving

“Oh Miss Granger,” she turned. “Do remember that though Hogwarts offers many protections from the world outside, it has so very little protection when trouble gets inside it.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded, walking out and licking her lips. She could read between the lines just fine: Dumbledore thought she was in danger from people within Hogwarts, whoever her date maybe… and he was probably right. Viktor had not spoken much about his fans but if they were anything like Muggle fans it would behoove her to watch out for herself. People of all years would be upset. 

She sighed, was nothing ever going to be easy? She walked to the greenhouse for Herbology silent in thought and generally ignoring whatever sneering or comments were directed at her. There was just nothing for it she knew.

After classes, she went to the Great Hall, snagging food and eating it on the way to the library. She finished it before eating and headed in, snagging a table near the back of the library since her usual table was taken and taking a breath of relief as she pulled down books on protective enchantments.

“You have need of protection?”

She looked up to see Aleksandr standing in front of her. Petya perused the stack of books beside her as Antonio slid into a seat across the table.

“I… Perhaps.”

Petya nodded and then seemed to remember something before handing it over, a small satchel of coins.

“Is prize for besting Viktor. Not easy thing. He and Cyrus are best duelers of Durmstrang.”

Hermione gaped but they didn't seem to be interested in explaining them and took the bag offered to look inside before quickly closing and leaning forward.

“This bag is full of galleons.”

Antonio nodded, “Yes.”

“Why is this a prize? Why are any of you carrying around this much money?”

Petya laughed, “Is tradition at Durmstrang. Bag has passed hands several times as there is nothing to buy at Durmstrang but school supplies. Viktor and Cyrus have held it for many years, nice to have Viktor lose.”

“Perhaps you come to Durmstrang and beat Cyrus for us too?” Aleksandr asked.

Hermione opened her mouth--

“Granger,” someone cut in. Their attention turned to the group of girls at the end of the table who were glaring at her and also batting their eyelashes at the group of Durmstrang boys.

“Since when did you have friends?”

Petya’s eyes widened at the girl’s tone before glancing to Aleksandr who was always the first to get angry.

“Are they paying you write their papers now? Is that really the only way you can get someone's attention?”

“Of course who would want to date you? They'd get lost in all that hair.”

“If you are quite done, some of us came here to study.” Hermione said turning back to her book, but the girls wouldn't back down, and the boys were shell shocked. 

“Well that is all you're useful for...Tell you what, if you get me an O in Potions, I might actually help you tame that beast on your head."   
"I'd much rather listen to your endearing simpering than help you."   
"You know I'm the most beautiful girl in Gryffindor don't you?"   
"And I am the smartest witch in school, your point?"   
"If you were so smart, you'd take the offer."   
"I'd rather kiss Malfoy."   
"Give it up, some girls just aren't worthy of the station."

“Not everyone can be born beautiful.”

They laughed for a moment while Hermione rolled her eyes willing them to go away so the crushing shame and terror of maybe losing their friendship would just cease to exist.   
"It must take a great deal of talent to be so pretty and so empty on the inside. My parents taught me brains over beauty will get you farther."   
"Well they're muggles, what do they know?"

Hermione opened her mouth,but it was drowned out with more of those ugly hateful words that Petya, Aleksander, and Antonio couldn't believe were being said without consequence. At Durmstrang such an attack on character and family would have led to a duel in the middle of the courtyard, or a fist fight.

What was stopping Hermione from hexing them to the edge of death and back? 

The leader sat on the edge of the table after sliding Hermione’s parchment off the edge. She leaned towards Petya, letting her skirt, already shortened, ride up further as he stared in shock.

“I'm sure handsome boys like you would rather not deal with Mudblood Granger’s prattle.”

Before the words had even left her mouth, the three of them surged to their feet, faces hot with anger and eyes narrowed. The shock gone, replaced with pure rage. Hermione moved to pick up her parchment and froze at the scene of three large young men glaring at the group of girls.

“You will not speak of her that way,”Antonio forced through a clenched jaw, his blue eyes flashing.

“Be glad you are girl, at Durmstrang we punish those who use such terms. Is not nice, nor wanted.” Aleksandr said, glaring at them.

“Leave before lose temper,” Petya hissed. “No one would want to date mean girl with black heart.”

The girl stepped back clearly shocked at their outrage and led her group of trollops away as Hermione stared them amazed at the outrage.They remained glaring after the girls until they were completely out of sight before turning to look at her.

“Uhm… thanks....”

Petya sat down angrily, “They speak to you like this often, yes? Call you that?”

Hermione shrugged, shying away from attention and looking back at her book.

“I don't notice.”

Antonio reached a hand to touch her shoulder, “You do not have to lie to us. Durmstrang may support a pureblood agenda, but none of us do. Petya’s grandmother was a muggle. One of my sisters married a muggle, and Aleksandr was raised by squibs.”

Hermione nodded slowly, hiding her face in her book, “It isn't a big deal. Just a word.”

“Why not hex?” Petya asked. “Would be no contest.”

“Well not only is that against the rules… but I can't.”

They looked at her for a moment, seeming to think.

“Words leave deeper scars, harder to heal than bludgeon.” Aleksandr said sagely. “Is not good to keep pain locked.”

Hermione felt her shoulders slump as she stayed quiet, not sure of what to say to that. How had these guys who’d known her for all of a few months manage to peer into her psyche and voice what she’d been avoiding with her witty retorts and blatant disregard for others’ opinions?

“Viktor is pureblood,” Petya started. “From oldest family of Bulgaria, but he not prejudice. He will be good to you.”

Hermione looked at him, “Good to me? What does that mean?”

“You are courting, yes?”

Hermione ducked her head again, “ I wouldn't call it that.”

Antonio snickered, “What would you call it then?”

“Going to the ball,” she replied.

Aleksandr laughed and said something to Petya that made him and Antonio laugh.

“What?”

Aleksandr shook his head, “You underestimate Viktor. He cares for you deeply...has not stop thinking of you since World Cup.”

“Da,” Petya shook his head. “He go on and on about beautiful warrior he see at World Cup. Very sad to think he never see you again, but happy to find you. Had to work up courage to talk to you.”

Hermione ducked her head further, thankful for the size of the book as Viktor arrived greeting them all and without the enchantment it was clear that everyone near them would find them, see them all together and…

_ What?  _ Hermione wondered. Wonder why Viktor and his friends were sitting with her, a mountain of books around them? Think she was probably tutoring them? She looked at the bag of coins and wondered for a moment. What would Hogwarts think? She found that she truly didn’t have an answer.

“Hermy-own-nee?”

She looked up, so used to Viktor’s voice already even as he scowled at Antonio’s Greek jibe.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?” He asked. “Not hurt?”

She shook her head and glowered at the satchel, “I do seem to be a great deal richer however.”

He laughed, “Yes, well...buy something nice for self.”

“Not book,” Petya said.

Hermione laughed taking the satchel off the table and stowing it in her pocket.

“I will take that under advisement.”

Viktor opened his own set of books, following everyone's lead and began to study. There were curious people looking around the corner, Viktor’s fans who would send hot glares of jealousy at Hermione,  but would eventually give up as it was obvious that their table was full. Sure it had six chairs, but the sixth was currently holding a stack of books that wouldn't fit on the table.

Hermione took a few feet of protective spell notes before she found the last spell she really needed. By then it was time, to head to bed.The four of them walked her to the Gryffindor portrait before heading back to the ship, whether out of some duty to her as Viktor’s date to the Yule Ball or genuine care, she didn't know. She headed to the table in the common room to peruse her notes and hopefully be forgotten.

If only she were so lucky...

“Alright Hermione,” Ron started plopping down across from her. “Let's be honest.”

She looked at him, “About?”

“You were lying to save face,” Ron said simply. “And that's fine, but don't keep putting up this front. You're only going to hurt yourself, Hermione. I have a date so don't wait on me to ask you.”

“Congratulations,” Hermione snorted, “Was that your attempt at protecting or comforting me, Ron? Because honestly, it was terrible.”

“Well if you're not lying, why not tell me who you're going with? I'm going with Padma.”

“Because it's none of your business.” she stood then with her paperwork and headed off to bed.

“I'm serious, Hermione!”

“I am too,” she said wryly and walked up the stairs calmly towards her shared dorm room. Ginny had opened a box and was looking at her gown for the Yule Ball.

“It's beautiful,” Hermione told her smiling at the soft pastel colors. 

“Has Ron asked you yet?” Ginny asked looking at her.

“Why would he?” she asked. “He just told me that he's going with Padma.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped, “Really? I thought...”

Hermione nodded climbing on to her bed and searching for something in her trunk, a scrap of cloth would do.

“Who is it? If not, Ron…”

“Roommate or not, Miss Weasley, somethings are still a secret.”

Ginny gave her a strange look before shrugging. Padma and Lavender came in with had to be their fifth load of bags since the announcement of the Yule Ball.

“I hear you got yourself a date to the Yule Ball, Granger,” Lavender said primly. “What poor sod did you have to beg to take you?”

“You should have just let Ron take you.”

Hermione gave them a wry smile, “You'll eat those words.”

The three of them stopped and looked at her as she stretched out on her bed, stroking Crookshanks and reading through her notes, making note of the order before grabbing the scarf she'd be using to keep warm.

“Right,” Padma said with a laugh. “Did you pay him then? Or is he just as ugly as you?”

“Of course she didn't pay him, muggle currency is worthless to a real wizard.”

“Where are you getting your gown from? You know you need wizarding robes, not Muggle right? And you can't buy those without wizarding currency.”

Hermione hummed reaching for the book Viktor had given her to find the page she'd marked for reference.

Ginny huffed, glaring at the two of them, "Hermione doesn't need to pay anyone to take her to the ball. She's probably got a better date than either of you."

"Harry Potter."

"Alex Highbrook."

Ginny snorted, "Who asked you because he was out of time and needed a date for Ron and because you're easy."

Hermione snickered at the way the two girls gawked.

"I bet he's not even real! Better than my date, no one would want bushy haired, Sabertooth Granger."

Ginny opened her mouth and raised her wand, prepared to hex the two girls.

“You'll regret that too,” Hermione said absently, focusing on practicing the wand movements before starting.

The two girls scoffed, apparently bored with her before opening their purchases and flinging them on their beds. They stepped in front of their mirrors and wondered, rather loudly, how they'd look, and the like.

A tapping on the window drew her attention. Ginny opened it and the great black owl swooped in landing on the edge of Hermione's bed and offering a letter to her.

"You must be Ivan," Hermione said with a smile and taking the letter from him.

She stroked his feather as Ginny looked at the owl half terrified and the two other girls looked at her suspiciously.

"And who is that from?"

Hermione opened the black wax-sealed letter and felt her lips quirk, "My date if you must know."

_ Dear Hermione, _ _   
_ _ If only I could say your name as easy as I could spell it. I have an aunt who has agreed to clear her schedule to fit you for a gown. Please let me know if this weekend will be okay. _ _   
_ _ Best, V _

Hermione leaned over her bed to grab for a quill, setting her ink pot on the ground as Ivan and Crookshanks got acquainted. It was rare for the half-kneazle to take a liking to anyone, so to find him cozying up to Ivan was clearly a good sign.

_ Dear Viktor, _

_ If only the world were so easy, I think the Triwizard tournament would have involved kittens instead of dragons. Tell your aunt that I am so very honored and grateful for her time, but it won't be necessary. I've already procured my gown. Hopefully, it doesn't clash too much with your robes, but I'm sure everyone will be too awe struck by Viktor Krazy Krum that they won't even notice. _

_ Thank you for caring,  _

_ H.G. _

_ P.S. You never said Ivan was so big, let alone having truly black feathers! I think he may have given my roommates a heart attack. _

She folded the parchment over the original message and reply into an origami dragon, spelling it stay still but flyaway for as long as it took Viktor to catch it with a mischievous grin.

"Stay warm Ivan, though I have a feeling that won't be a problem for you."

He took the origami dragon and hooted at her softly before leaving into the night sky. She laughed at the idea of Viktor running around after the origami dragon in his bunk on the ship. She wondered what sort of mischief he would send back if he thought funny. But all of that could wait until she made sure the spells would work the way she needed them to, so she climbed back on her bed and went back to work.

She watched the shadow copy be made and held up the original, setting the copy above a cup of water before firing a myriad of hexes and jinxes at the original watching the spell vanish and the copy set ablaze. She grinned. Perfect.

“Misses, mail!”

Lavender and Pavarti scrambled to get their mail from the female elf before she walked over to Hermione to set a few parcels on her bed.

“Thank you, Cleo,” she said kindly before offering her some chocolate. “Care for some?”

“You are most kind, miss,” she said taking the bar and apparating away.

Cleo had been one of many elves she’d grown to know over her time at Hogwarts. While S.P.E.W. was partially just a cover for why she was so exhausted, it was not an empty cover. Along with Dobby, Cleo had taken a hat and considered herself free, only remaining at Hogwarts because she was treated well.

Hermione didn't miss the way the three girls eyed her packages. Sorry for them that they were all from family members and would tell them nothing about her date. Even the letter from Viktor would have told them nothing. The first from her dad, a letter telling her in no uncertain terms that he loved her and he absolutely did not agree with his little girl growing up so fast. 

She laughed at his antics as he wanted to know more details about her date, this  _ boy who has sparked such a change in you _ . He sent her money along with it and she laughed, knowing the only place to exchange muggle money for wizarding would be at Hogsmeade though he didn't know that. Her father still wasn't up to speed on the differences.

The next package was from her mum, ecstatic about the whole affair, demanding details about where she was going to get her gown, demanding a picture, and telling her that they'd sent her something special for her hair and the night. She wanted to know what color she'd be wearing to help get things together while wishing, more than anything, that she could be there to help her through the process.

_ Write if you should need anything, though we expect a full story when you come home after Christmas. _

The final was from her grandmother, who until she'd received her Hogwarts letter, Hermione had thought she was just a tad eccentric… It turned out that she was actually a squib married to a muggle. Her letter came with a box signed from her mother and her grandmother. She opened it and couldn't help but smile at the collection of pins and rollers inside. They were thin, perfect for straw sets, but that hardly mattered when you had magic.

Her grandmother seemed to be the most excited about the prospect of Hermione’s date, anticipating a full retelling and scribbling a few more embarrassing spells on the back. What exactly did her grandmother think she would be doing with Viktor that she would need these spells?

She folded the paper back up with a shake if her head, her grandmother had always been a little out there, but she loved her all the same. Upon further perusal of the box, she found a magazine of elegant hairstyles and more products. She almost laughed seeing the flat iron as there was nowhere in Hogwarts to plug it up. Nonetheless it was the thought that counted. She dug a little deeper before figuring out what to do with her hair, decisive and setting the box aside to pen replies to each of them, including a questioning of what exactly her grandmother was imagining. She admitted to being terrified that this would all be some large hoax at her expense, that she wasn't pretty enough, but they had raised her to be stronger than such fears so she would go to Hogsmeade and get the rest of the things she would need. She only told that to her mother and grandmother as her father  just wouldn’t have understood. He meant well but was not very good with the emotions of a socially struggling teenage girl.

On the day of the ball, she woke up early, grabbed all the money she had, got dressed and went down to breakfast alone. She ate quickly, before hurrying out towards Hogsmeade. The town had just woken up and were preparing for the last minute rush of students. She exchanged her muggle money for a few galleons and sickles before walking into the hairdressing shop. 

The woman took one look at her and directed her next door to the potions shop.

“I can not tame poodles.”

Hermione had been sure to tell her exactly how rude she was and clarifying that she was just going to ask if they had any curl relaxant as she would never think of allowing someone that looked like Cindy Loo-Who to do her hair. The woman had been indignant and Hermione left the shop. She went to the potions store and searched the shelves before coming upon Sleekeazy’s. She read the ingredients and it sounded like the wizarding version of DooGro or something. She went for the liquid version since it didn't have petrolatum in it She grabbed as many bottles as she could manage before walking to the front where the shopkeeper gave her a pitying smile. She tallied up the purchases and added a special brush and a set of pins for free.

“Better take it in sections dear.”

Hermione nodded, thanking her before heading back to the castle as quickly as she left. She took out a container and read the instructions. It said that a few drops would work, but even the best straightening spells she'd found did not seem to help at all. She set it aside, deciding not to worry about it as much since the Ball would not be happening for quite a few more hours. She still had to bathe and wait for her dress to arrive. Instead, she went for a walk taking in the fresh air and relaxing from the lack of extra studies or studying in general to go sit by the lake. 

She heard it then, turning to look down the way where a few Durmstrang boys were playing around in the water, noted by their low hair cuts.

“Herm-eye-one!”

One of them waved, Petya she guessed from his voice, drawing her over. He introduced her quickly to the rest of the group who all kissed her hand in turn and smiled, dripping wet in the December cold.

“You'll all be sick,” she said

“This spring time at Durmstrang, if we wait until warm we swim maybe twice a year.”

She shook her head and took up residence on a rock overlooking their game that looked distinctly like water polo. Petya seemed to be on the losing team, but there was no malice when they came out to sit on the bank and dry off with their towels.

“Herm-eye-own?”

She looked over to Petya who seemed to be a tad nervous about asking her something as the rest of them bade them goodbye and headed back towards the ship.

“Do not wish to be rude, but must know...Viktor is comrade--have been hurt before…”

Hermione looked at him as he sighed and took a seat. He told her that Viktor’s last girlfriend had slipped him love potions for the entirety of their relationship. She'd been attracted to his fame but knew nothing about him. It had wounded Viktor deeply, shutting him down socially, making him stop trusting anyone. Nearly his own friends too, if they weren't more stubborn than he was hurt.

“That's...terrible,”Hermione said with a shake of her head. “He told me she was a user, but not that she  _ drugged _ him. If I meet her on the street, I should have a good hex or two for her. It isn't right to play with people's emotions.”

He looked at her interested as to why her tone turned so very introspective and her eyes distant. And hearing that Viktor had told her made him smile.

“I mean Viktor no harm, Petya… now that I know this I feel a little foolish for being worried.”

“Worried?”

She winced and tilted her head, “It wouldn't be the first time that someone showed interest in me for their own gain...usually for a good laugh to be had by all at my expense...It's why I don't have many friends.”

Petya flushed, “At Durmstrang we would duel for honor, then break legs for insult.”

Hermione smiled, “It's heart-warming.”

He waited a moment before looking out to the lake, “Viktor good man. Want only to...know you, will be good to you, harmless like rabbit.”

She laughed at that, doubting that Viktor was harmless like a rabbit, but given his gentle nature, at least what she'd seen of it, she could understand Petya’s meaning.

“There is… one thing.”

Petya looked at her.

“Viktor… thinks I'm a seventh year, doesn't he?”

Petya shook his head, “You are not?”

She shook her head and looked at him, “It is complicated to explain, the reason I can do things...Some I can’t explain, can’t tell anyone. He won't be happy will he?”

“Nonsense! Viktor not care about year or age, time make them unimportant. Viktor care about you...and if you are younger and so amazing he will be...how do you say like worship?”

“Awed?”

Petya shook his head, “Yes, something like that and hold tighter. Consider himself lucky he find you before everyone else catch up. He will not push for secrets--he hold his own. He only hope that secrets not keep you from him.”

Hermione laughed smiling at him, “Thanks Petya… I think I needed to hear that.”

Petya nodded and stood,”Must head back. I will walk you to castle.”

She didn't get a chance to protest before he'd bowed to her and offered her his hand. She took it, walking him back towards the castle and smiling as he kissed her hand and walked back towards the ship. She headed inside towards the Great Hall for lunch to snag a seat before everyone else arrived. No sooner had she sat down did the rest of the students seemed to be pouring in and owls came. Some dropping off boxes, letters. Harry stood to catch his box from Sirius and Hermione caught the small parcels that were meant for her.

“No dress robes?” Ron badgered.

Hermione ignored him, looking at the envelope with black wax and a seal she'd seen only once before written in a familiar script. She looked up across the tables to where Viktor said who only offered a smile before she looked down to open the letter. He asked her if meeting at the entryway would be okay, as he would be a part of the opening procession.He also thanked her for the dragon. Apparently, it had been great fun to chase it around. Ivan had seemingly laughed at him... as had Petya, Antonio, and Aleksandr. She placed it in the envelope before giving a smile and a nod across the tables. Though he maintained the Bulgarian meanings of shakes and nods, he understood the English significance and grinned shaking his head in reply. It was a little disorienting sometimes, but the more time they spent together the easier it became. She laughed a bit as the letter began to fold in on itself bending into a snidget hovering in the air chirping at her. She laughed more so because she knew what Aleksandr called her: "Viktor's Snitch.".   
"That's so cool, who sent you that?" Ginny asked watching the paper snidget dart around Hermione's head before settling on top, nestling comfortably in her curls.   
"My date."

The next few parcels were from her family, replies to her letters. Ron plopped down across from her as a first year arrived. 

“Here’s your parcel, Mr. Weasley.”

Hermione looked up questioningly. She felt the paper Snidget tilt its head curiously at Ron. Ginny squealed at how adorable it was.

“Thank you Nigel.”

The kid remained staring at Harry who seemed not only uncomfortable but still in pain. Eventually Ron shooed him away, explaining that he’d promised to get him Harry’s autograph.Hermione shook her head at him, disapprovingly before turning back to her food..

“You know Hermione it's not too late to fess up.”

Hermione glanced at him, deciding against reading her letters there. She began to eat instead, happy to ignore Ron’s badgering and Harry’s passivity as he brooded, tried to be inconspicuous as possible, and kept himself from falling asleep in his food.

“Ginny do you know?”

“Even if I did I wouldn't tell you,”Ginny said with a grin at Hermione. “Roommate's honor.”

“I'm your brother!”

“You can't hex me in my sleep.”

Hermione laughed before turn at the tap on her shoulder. Delighted to see Mira standing there in her tiny toga, smiling up at her.

“Miss Hermione Granger, I have brought with me your dress robes and things. Mistresses say I should stay until you have seen them.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. And Harry dutifully ducked his head trying to avoid the oncoming outrage and argument. Sometimes he wanted to tell Ron to grow up and just ask Hermione out because he wanted to (desperately) without the illusion of having a choice or it being an act of mercy for Hermione's sake.

Hermione smiled, “Hello Mira, come on then.”

She gathered her packages and walked with Mira out the door towards Gryffindor tower and up to her room.

“I shall be right back,” Mira said before disappearing in the way that only house elves could. She reappeared with a stack of boxes, all very elegant in design and presentation. The symbol of the Nine Muses on each of them along with the names of individual sisters. She levitated them towards Hermione’s bed and waited for Hermione to open the letter attached detailing the contents of the boxes, everything from hair ornaments to shoes there as well as not to worry about payment as this was a favor for Viktor on one condition:

_ If anyone asks you where you got your things from, tell them you have connections to the Nine Muses. They will know, and they will be very sorry. You dear Hermione will soar. Keep in contact, you can never have too many sisters. _

Hermione swallowed, her lips twitching and hands trembling to open the largest box and fold back the tissue paper.

“It's...gorgeous.”

“Mistress Aella called it Anemos Asteri,  _ Star Wind _ . You like it?”

Hermione’s eyes burned, lifting it from the box and trying not to cry at the delicate feeling of the dress.The gorgeous periwinkle seemed deeper, dusted with starlight as it layered over itself a modest plunging neckline overlaid with a gossamer thin cape that trailed behind. The layers fluttered like the wind and sparkled gently. It looked as if it was made of the light just at dawn when the stars were barely dimming and the sky growing lighter. She'd chosen the material because it made her think of dawn, of the time when Viktor said he loved to fly the most, the close second being twilight. She had never imagined it like this though. The charm on fabric dotting it with constellations, she could almost see Venus rising...

“I don't believe I've ever seen something so beautiful.I can not thank you all enough.”

Mira beamed at her, “Mistresses requests a picture of your night to join the collection. They keep them in the gallery for personal commissions.”

“Of course! How could I not do so when they have given me such a gift.”

She set the dress aside and kneeled to hug Mira in thanks before the elf squeezed her back and vanished away with a goodbye. Hermione turned back to place the gown back into the box and set the others with it in her trunk, locking it before heading back downstairs to the table where Ron seemed rather distraught.

“What's wrong?”

“Mum sent him his dress robes. They're ghastly.”

Hermione tried not to laugh as he stared at the lace along the collar.

“You could make some adjustments.” Hermione suggested. “Or--”

Ron glared at her, “What would you know about it? ”

Hermione threw up her hands, standing and telling them that they'd see her later, at the ball as she refused to deal with Ron’s immaturity.

When she arrived back at her room, she resumed reading her letters and opened the second box from her grandmother. The last few spritzes of perfume from a clearly wizarding company, a nail kit, bath oils and scrubs. She recognized the bottle from her grandmother’s dresser. The company didn't exist anymore after being sold to another with the rise of love potion perfumes. This brand instead enhanced the natural scents of a person, something like the wizarding take on pheromone perfume. She remembered how it smelled of nothing really on its own, but on someone it brought out the best notes of their scent. Her grandmother had always smelled of the sun and sand with the tang of oranges. She wondered for a moment what she would smell like.

_ I know what it is to be young, you have gone long enough hiding in books, Mia. It is time that you enjoy your womanliness. _

Hermione wasn't sure what that meant but as she opened the cardboard box within, she could only guess it meant wearing these far too delicate bits of underwear that she would have never bought for herself.

She tucked that away, and read her other letters, laughing at her mum’s apology for the flat iron and sending her hope that she would find something else to help her. Her father was still not happy about not being able to be there, to meet Viktor and scare him a bit. Muggle or not.

_ I'm being jipped of my rites of passage! _ He wrote, she could hear him grumbling about locking her in a tower for the rest of her life if he had his way. It would have been easier if she'd just been muggle...at least she would have a few more years before any such galas.

Ginny came up to grab her things and tell her that she would be getting ready elsewhere. Lavender, Parvati and Padma would be doing the same with other friends from Gryffindor leaving Hermione in the room alone. When they'd taken everything they'd wanted from the room it was almost five o’clock. Hermione went to the bathroom with her newly arrived bathing things and took a bath letting the relaxing salts sink in, and scrubbing at her skin until it glowed. She washed her hair as carefully as always, twisting it up in parts then in a towel. When she was satisfied that she was clean, she grabbed her towel and stepped out of the tub. She smiled fondly at the scent of shea butter that her grandmother sent her from her travels, all natural and familiar. It reminded her of home. She was sure to apply it properly until she was astonished at her own skin's glow. Perhaps she should think about investing more time in her appearance. She laughed at herself in the mirror. Nonsense really, she didn't scrub everyday, but her skin was anything but unhealthy. She smiled at her face careful to wash and moisturize it properly before beginning the process of tackling her hair. She lifted the brush and pins the woman at the shop had given her and began to work Sleekeazy’s into her hair. Using the suggested amount seemed to do nothing leading her to use more of it. She was glad she bought multiple bottles as she hummed and worked through the sections of her still wet hair. When she was finished her hair was still wet but the curls had loosened significantly until she could see the ringlets emerge, not aggravated by the cold or stress. She had thought she'd stopped the hex from making her hair that much longer...but in reality she'd been fooled by the tightness of her curls as it was now reaching below the small of her back when it had been to her shoulders before…

Perhaps the hex had made her curls tighter as she grabbed for the bottle of Sleekeazy and transfigured a spritzer top for it to fight the way her curls seemed to want to shrink again. She'd gone through three bottles now and was setting her hair in a myriad or straw rollers, pinning them and glancing at the style she'd chosen as she stood in the mirror. Once she'd braided a side, she let the rest sit and dry in the rollers, throwing the empty bottles away before walking to her bed to summon her nail kit and open it. She laughed as they set to work all on their own and smiled. She had to remember to thank her grandmother for the merciful gift as she'd had no idea what to do with most of it. She allowed the heat of the room to dry her hair fully, running a precautionary drying charm through it before before spelling the rollers and pins out and back into the box from her grandmother.

She waddled across the floor in the special shoes that kept her toes separated to take a look and grinning at the fact that it had all come out much better than she'd hoped.After a pat on the back, she turned back to let the kit finish it's job. Relaxing in the quiet of her room as she heard giggling in the common room, raucous laughter.

“I don't think she's coming.”

“After all that fuss about having a date…”

She smiled, knowing exactly who was speaking before thanking the nail kit and checking the time. Vitor said to meet him at entrance at seven forty-five to figure out the procession. It was edging on six thirty now. So she took her time to figure out the lace unmentionables her grandmother sent her. The bra seemed to have a different sort of clasp or maybe…

She gasped feeling it wrap around her, strapless, backless and tight enough to support her breasts. She'd have to ask for more wizarding bras, they were clearly superior to muggle ones. No stays, no underwire digging into her ribcage. She liked it and while she wasn't overly busty, the issues of bras were still very real to her.

The underwear to go with were so dainty she was afraid she'd rip them just by getting them on. Seamless and no doubt magical in nature, they fit perfectly, the same color as her skin so when she looked in the mirror she almost thought she was naked.

She levitated out the boxes she'd been sent opening the first full of hair ornaments of pure starlight she was sure and watched them twist around the bulk of her hair and carry it up to pin high leaving only a few dainty tendrils free to fall over her bare shoulder and frame her face delicately.

The jewelry and makeup box opened next lining her eyes perfectly and darkening her eyelashes. She'd never noticed exactly how long her eyelashes were since they were brown, but with the black mascara she almost thought she looked…

Pretty? Feminine?  She wasn't sure. A light application of no-smudge red gloss and a brushing of her eyebrows into place she hardly recognized herself. Though she knew that there had been no foundation save to help her shiny deep blue eyeshadow stick and pop against her dark skin, it was still hard to think that this was really her complexion.

The bottle of perfume hovered, the face of it smiled at her and began to spritz lightly over her neck, the insides of her wrists and the small of her back.

She swallowed not really smelling anything, but knowing her grandmother would not send what was clearly her favorite perfume for nothing. She turned to grab her wand then and focused, repeating the gestures and words from before and watching the shadow copy drift into her cupboard and lock itself away.

A deep breath later she watched the gown float out of the box and held her hands out allowing it to slide over her shoulder and wraparound her waist, the gossamer cloak settled around her neck, chest and shoulders and she spun around to watch the midnight-dawn illusion flutter around, smiling. Her nails were trimmed in a silvery blue. She couldn't help but laugh at the shoes, clear as glass with a slight glow to them. She felt like she'd stepped into Cinderella by accident and smiled at the dainty swirling lapis lazuli and silver studs for her ears. She grabbed her wand, tucking it in the hidden pockets of her robe and took a moment to look at herself. She couldn't believe it really and felt her stomach churn. Could she really do this?

She looked back to the letters on her bed before casting a spell to put everything away in her trunk and taking another breath before checking the time.

Seven thirty…

It was now or never.

*

Viktor arrived a little early hoping to get some courage from it and finding that it only made him more nervous. People walked past him, girls giving him flirtatious looks, boys giving him starry eyes, asking for his autograph at times...

“Viktor,” Petya greeted, coming up behind him in identical blood red robes as was customary of Durmstrang. “I swear you have different robes.”

He chuckled nervously, “I just wear them better.”

“Do not worry, she will come,” he said with a small smile.

Viktor wasn't sure what to make of Petya’s expression, but he has no time to think on it when Petya’s date arrived and walked with him into the Great Hall. He watched them go, having already received similar encouragement from Aleksandr and Antonio, he hoped they were right. Though Hermione had said yes, she was afraid...more afraid than he was perhaps. There was a lot about Hermione he didn't know, but he hoped that whatever it was that frightened her would not hold her back.

He didn’t know if it was his fame, his foreignness, or something else but he almost wanted to laugh at the thought that his fame may actually hinder him at the one thing he actually wanted. He was starting to feel heavy, sluggish with the thoughts in his head, nervous. His hands twitched and part of him wanted to run and catch the next breeze far away from the Great Hall decorated like an icy palace, away from Karkaroff, away from the tournament, away from the thought that no one as brilliant as Hermione would ever want a sullen looking, ground awkward seeker like him.

_ Broken ,pathetic ,sniveling... _

He shoved the voice away. Viktor looked towards the staircase again as another wave of students came down. Harry and Ron included. He felt his heart sink seeing that she wasn't with them when he knew she usually went everywhere with them. He took another breath, trying to keep himself from jittering out of his skin. She had promised to meet him here, promised to go to the ball with him even though he butchered her name…

*

“Poor thing... probably crying her eyes out.”

Harry looked at Ron, “Who?”

“Hermione of course...why do you think that she wouldn't tell us who?”

“Because we'd tear the mickey out of her if she did.”

“Nobody asked her, it's a shame really..Would've taken her myself if she weren't so bloody proud.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry wasn't sure what to say. Hermione was proud with good reason, but that pride wouldn't have made her a liar. If Hermione said she had a date, she had one. What Ron was so upset about he couldn't fathom. The truth was that if Ron wasn't so bloody proud, he would have asked Hermione as soon as the Ball was announced. He only had himself to blame if that were the case. Parvati gave her sister an encouraging nudge to walk with Ron into the hall as Harry found Cho by the door with Cedric. She was… 

“She's beautiful…”

Pavarti said in awe.

“Yeah...she is.” He turned his head and realized quickly that Parvati wasn't speaking about Cho but the young woman coming down the stairs.

*

_ Just breathe, Mia, _ she commanded watching people walk by her, disillusioned and nervous. 

Whether Viktor was at the bottom of the staircase or not, she wouldn't run away.Her shoes were comfortable but not that comfortable after all. So she breathed and took down the charm before wringing her hands and peeking around the corner scanning for Viktor among the people standing around the entrance to the Great Hall. She found him with that normal scowl, worrying his hands, adjusting his robes, and seemingly as nervous as she felt.  But he was there, just as he promised. For a quick look around, there were no traps, no tricks… he wasn’t an illusion. 

_ Be brave, Mia, _ she told herself as she stepped out, shoulders back like she was stepping on the ice and terrified. She waited, being the only person on the staircase and waiting until he looked back at her. It's the look of awe, the way he freezes and takes her in that makes her lips lift in something like a smirking smile. He seemed to realize that she was real and coming down the stairs and hurried towards her as if someone would steal her away if he wasn't there by the time she made it to the last step.

His heart pounded as he crossed the room, careful to keep an eye out for anyone who would try and swoop in. Someone more handsome that could say her name properly. She was gorgeous, wrapped in the sky he watched as he flew before the world had fully awakened. It was the best time to fly in his opinion. He thought she looked beautiful smudged in ash and fierce, he had nothing to prepare him for this.

Harry, to his credit, didn't gawk...but he barely recognized her until she was wearing that half smirk smile. He wasn't sure what he was seeing given that Hermione, for the four years they'd known each other, had never crossed his mind as a girl...more like a sister, he guessed. Seeing her now, he wasn't so sure if that was the case any longer.

He was shocked even more when broad, blood red covered shoulder stopped with a militant stomp before her and bowed offering her his hand. She took his hand with a breath and let him help her down the last step. He turned and Harry’s stomach rolled to see Viktor Krum…

_ Well, so much for Ron’s theory. _

He gave a confident tilt to his lips and a shake of his head, leading Hermione gently around, the sound of her heels gentle beneath the fluttering waves of dawn backed starlight she seemed to be wrapped in. She waved to him with a nervous smile and followed Viktor towards the procession.

“Who is that with Viktor Krum?” Parvati asked looking over.

“I'm not sure,” he lied.

“She's beautiful.”

Harry nodded and led her towards where they were being lined up to enter the hall. They were last in the line, Viktor and Hermione being second. Harry stared ahead and forced himself to breathe as the door opened and the procession began. Ron scanned the room for Hermione with Padma beside him and as he thought, she wasn't there. The door opened and the procession began and his stomach jolted seeing the woman on Viktor’s arm, wrapped in dawn and starlight, her hair a bed of ringlets contained with stars. She was… beautiful.

“Is that... Hermione Granger with Viktor Krum?”

“Definitely not,” he said refusing to believe it, as dumbstruck as everyone else as the four champions took the floor.

Viktor turned to her with a gentle smile, taking her hand and waist confidently, not missing her gasp. He looked down at her a rich scent reaching his nose, gentle and heady, drawing him in like a siren song. It smelled of parchment, books, and Egyptian musk--earthy, primal and so very womanly. But… this was how she always smelled, just heightened by her perfume.Their palms warm and sparkling where they met. The same feeling resonating up his arm, soothing the tension there, radiating from where his hand rested on her waist  making her  smile up at him. It’s a heady, giddy feeling that has them both smiling, not from nerves, but from pure happiness. It’s all Viktor can hear from that little voice, all he can feel beside his own joy and he wonders if maybe she has one too, if their little voices were whispering to one another words of care and promises for happiness from beyond time. He feels it, hooked into the core of him where his magic rested, where his soul was and deeper to where he kept his ability to read the wind.

It's intense and a little overwhelming but there's no fear between them, just comfort and stars sparkling beneath their skin.

"You are beautiful," he said, breathless, heedless.

She doesn't know the words, but from his expression, his tone, she knows what he's saying. Viktor was the only person outside of her family to ever call her beautiful, to hear it in his native language felt like a warm hand brushing against her face. Too intimate for words, yet so expressive she didn't think there were enough words to describe it. Her mom had told her about love, but she never talked about this, never said anything about this feeling that made her smile, teeth showing and unashamed, basking in his gaze like this. She never told her what it meant to be looked at the way Viktor looked at her.

“You are beautiful,” he said again this time in English. “Am luckiest man alive.”

She smiled, “I am very lucky too.”

Antonio, Petya, and Aleksandr grinned standing by their dates with approving grins. 

“Such lovely robes, where did she get them?”

“The Nine Muses,”Antonio answered, proudly. His sisters had outdone themselves.

She gasped and looked on as they danced. Hermione and Viktor oblivious to everyone else as he lifted her high and set her down gently to spin her around, the sweep of their cloaks following their movements. Hermione didn’t even have the chance to be nervous or unsure. Viktor was a confident dancer, keeping his eyes on her, but aware of their surroundings enough to keep them from running into anyone. 

“You are quite the dancer, I would have never guessed,” she said. 

“With you, like flying,” Viktor told her, lifting her high again and making her laugh as he set her down and whirled her around. 

Girls looked jealous watching them dance, that jealousy turning to shock as they spun past. Aleksandr offered a thumbs up as more people began to take the floor and pretty soon it was proper for everyone to do so.

This close, Hermione could smell his cologne that seemed to enhance his natural scent. He’d drawn her closer as the dance floor began to fill, ever careful of the length of her robes. He smelled of the sea, the smell of bourbon stronger than usual and something else she could only describe as male---no,  _ man. _ Harry and Ron never smelled like this. It made her think of those commercials she used to watch on the telly when she’d first begun to realize that boys grew into men, and men were definitely something she’d like to know more about.

“You smell good,” he said in her ear, content to pull her closer as they dance. It sounded almost slurred as if he'd been drinking though she knew that wasn't the case.

“You too,” she said, calmed by their scents mingling from the proximity. She felt a little dazed with it, but thankfully it wasn’t long before they broke for food, the four champions sitting with their dates at respective tables. 

Hermione and Viktor sat with several of the Durmstrang company. Some asking where she got her robes to which she dutifully replied “The Nine Muses” and the fact that the primary designing sisters had designed and created everything they saw. Some of them glanced to Viktor before glowering at her, mumbling about getting such an expensive gift to appear with Viktor.  Viktor looked over to Antonio who only lifted his glass in salute before turning back to his table.

His lips quirked, he would have to thank the muses for their help and love. He should have known seeing her come down the stairs. They had an eye for fashion and knew what the color would mean to him as one who spent as much time as he could, usually at dawn, soaring through the sky and racing the growing light.

When dinner was finished, they mingled among the tables, Viktor radiating pride and happiness as they talked to people. Proud to have her on his arm, proud how taken everyone seemed to be with her and having her all to himself to lead around. They stopped for official pictures for the school newspaper and the journalists before Hermione requested a few extra copies, several of her with Viktor and of her alone.

“For my family and Aella,” she said after thanking the camera man. Viktor nodded asking for extra copies for his family as well.

“Grandmother would be upset, just now in good graces.”

Hermione laughed and nodded before they turned to chat with more people. She felt a bit...smug at the way Malfoy had to stare, her tormentors stared in disbelief and grumbling that they had nothing to say. Harry smiled at her from across the room with Pavarti gaping at her. 

“ _ Is that Hermione? _ ”

Harry only shrugged, but it wasn’t long before she and Lavender came marching over.

“You… You…”

“I told you,” Hermione said with a smile and turning to speak with Ginny who gushed at how gorgeous she looked, demanding a picture to send back to Molly with Viktor and Neville in the photo. The twins waltzed over eventually, shaking hands with Viktor and teasing Hermione a bit.

“This is Fred and George,” Hermione introduced. “Do not try and trick him.”

The two grinned, “Can’t promise that ‘Mione… Don’t you clean up nice. I hardly recognized you without the quill pieces in your hair.”

Hermione glowered at George, “Where’s Angelique?”

“Chatting it up I’m sure,” George said. “Going to go grab myself a dance now.”

“They are odd, yes?” Viktor asked. “You can tell apart?”

Hermione grinned, “Yes, they are, but wicked smart. And yes. I can.”

“Must teach trick to Petya before his sisters grow older,” Viktor said. “They are handful, but can not crawl yet.”

Hermione grinned, “So Petya told me… He mentioned you had older brothers too. Are they all Quidditch players?”

Viktor grimaced, “No… not Quidditch players… They… work elsewhere. wish I had sisters like Antonio.”

She laughed at that. They walked away from the dance floor towards the courtyard outside as Viktor tried to pull together the words to describe his brothers.All of them very much older than him, very proud of their pureblood heritage, of the similar mindsets and in general they didn’t like him much.

“Father… very proud man, proud of sons… wanted us to all bring glory to family name. He… push hard when younger. was no room for fun, for mistake… everything had to be… his way, for Krum name.”

In reality, he’d been seven years younger than the others who’d all gone to Durmstrang, scrambling for attention. His father had foisted him off on a family friend for tutelage for most of his childhood. His grandmother had been the person he lived with until he went to Durmstrang. Part of him knew that it was because he was named after his father’s father. Viktor had proven quickly to be intelligent, gifted with words, but it had never been enough. It would never be enough for his family he knew. The man wanted a son in every industry and his brothers had been clear that there was no room for him in the family with his clearly Slavic features. They’d hated him as a child… they probably hated him more now. He hoped to be a better brother to his younger sibling if he ever had one.

“What about your older brothers?”

Hermione looked up at him as he looked ahead rather grim, “Ve… do not get along well, older brothers much like father.”

“I’m… sorry Viktor.”

He shook his head, “Does not matter. was… how do you say… taken in by Aleksandr, Petya and Antonio’s family. Have plenty brothers in Durmstrang now, have plenty fun..”

Hermione smiled as he talked about one such brother, a Cyrus Rasun, who’d transferred from Hogwarts to Durmstrang. He didn’t know most of the languages, but they had quickly become friends. They’d protected him and helped him settle in and now he was set to graduate with them, a full two years early. The same Cyrus who was ruthless on the pitch, hated the cold.

“Wow,” she said. “I’m glad you found brothers.”

“Me too,” he said, with a wry smile. “And you? No siblings?”

She shook her head, “Afraid not. I have cousins, though we don’t see each other often… The Weasleys, Ginny’s mother particularly, seems to have adopted me as the second daughter she never had.”

Viktor nodded, “Ginny is… Ron’s sister, yes?”

She nodded, “She rooms with me at Gryffindor. She used to be positively terrified of Harry, a bit of a crush on him too.”

“And.. you? You have crush on Harry?”

Hermione sputtered, “No, not ever. Harry is...like the brother I never had. Sure, he takes Ron’s side more often than not, but we are good friends.”

Viktor nodded, “And Ron?”

Hermione thought for a moment, “Ron and I have had an interesting relationship--filled with more quarreling than anything, but that’s what happens when you only have two friend and both are male.”

Viktor hummed, and looked up realizing that they’d walked rather far, “we should head back yes? Do not wish you to be cold.”

Hermione smiled, letting him lead her back though she was anything but cold. It seemed that the gown had already be laced with warming charms. Either way, the walked back to the Great Hall where propriety seemed to be melting away at the announcement of the Wyrd Sisters. 

“We must dance,” Viktor said taking off his cloak and leaving it on his chair before tugging her towards the dance floor.

_ Move your body like a hairy troll, learning to rock and roll. Spin around like a crazy elf, dancing by himself... _

She laughed in disbelief as he tried to dance with her, spinning her and grinning, sure to make a fool of himself so she wouldn't feel bad about doing the same. They laughed, dancing easily. She’d never felt so light as when he twirled her and they mirrored each other’s terrible dance moves, laughing to the tune of the sound as the rest of the constituents seemed to find jumping the proper method of dancing.

It made Ron sick, sitting beside Harry, Pavarti and Padma glancing painfully at each other as they watched everyone else dance.

“Ruddy pumpkin head, isn't he?”

“I don't think books is what had him going to the library…”

Though, he should have guessed that given that Viktor had asked about his and Hermione’s relationship. He'd thought it odd, meant to ask, but never had the chance to...Well, now he knew why.

Pavarti was pulled away eventually and Padma left in the hopes of finding something worthwhile. They had no idea how many songs they sat there watching people dance, watching Hermione and Viktor seem to never be out of sync for before Viktor was pulling Hermione out of the crowd. Both of them stumbling, laughing as her cloak billowed out behind her a trail of stars and light. They stopped not far from them and spoke just a bit before Viktor met Hermione’s eyes and kissed her hand gently. He turned looking back once before heading towards the punchbowl. She whirled once, seemingly amazed before coming over to sit beside Harry, staring ahead, breathing heavily from dancing and excitement.

“Hot isn't it?” She asked quietly before turning to Harry. “Viktor’s gone to get drinks, would you care to join us?”

Harry opened his mouth, but Ron’s hissing cut him off.

“No we would not care to join you and  _ Viktor. _ ”

Hermione swallowed,”What's got your wand in a knot?”

Harry remained quiet listening to the two of them.

“He’s a Durmstrang _. _ You're fraternizing with the enemy.”

“The  _ enemy _ ? Who was it wanting his autograph?” Ron sat back, bitter and jaw clenched tight, “Besides the whole point of the tournament is international magical cooperation--to make  _ friends. _ ”

Ron scoffed, “Think he's got a bit more than friendship on his mind.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but closed it looking at Ron who wouldn't look at her then Harry who said nothing and merely looked at Ron. She stood then and turned, stopping to turn back and say something but deciding against it to return to Viktor who held two cups of punch with a smile. It dropped a bit seeing her expression.

“Is okay?”

Hermione shook her head, “It's nothing, just a disagreement among friends. No need to let it spoil a perfectly good evening.”

Viktor nodded as she took the cup and he could see Kakaroff’s disapproving expression across the room. He would be yelled at tonight he was sure, but he couldn’t find the time to care. Not even if Kakaroff sent word to his parents… She drank the punch down and by then another fast paced song had begun. She took his hands and grinned.

“Again?”

He shook his head and followed her laughing at the way they seemed to race even though neither of them knew the song. She put Ron out of her mind, talking with Viktor, dancing to song after song, fast or slow until Kakaroff came to request several words with him with a sneer in her direction.

Viktor sighed and kissed her hand, “Was wonderful time, much fun. We do this again? Soon?”

Hermione smiled and nodded, “It was fun, thank you for a wonderful evening Viktor. And yes, I would love to. After break perhaps?”

He grinned, stealing a kiss to her cheek mischievously before grabbing his cloak and heading back to the ship. Kakaroff caught him at the exit, hissing at him in Russian and Hermione found her way towards where Ron still sat glaring at the dance floor.

“Where's Harry?”

“What? So he's done with you now, eh?”

“Excuse me?”

Ron sat and stood up, leading her to do the same, “All that hand kissing must have fried your brain. He's  _ using _ you.”

Ron turned heading out of the Great Hall with her struggling to keep up with him in her heels. It felt a little like power hearing her labored breathing knowing that she had to fight to keep up with him.

“How  _ dare _ you? Besides I can take care of myself.”

“Doubt it. He's way too old.”

“What? That's what you think?”

“Yeah, that's what I think.”

She gripped her hand, throwing up a mental block at the slightest feeling of Severus trying to test her. He stumbled with the force of it and watched the altercation. Apparently, whatever was being said was enough to make her not have time to even guess how strong his intrusions would be. Rather than the usual meaningless prattle of Lavender, there was nothing but a thick wall through which he could see and hear nothing.

“Well then, you know the solution then don't you?”

“Go on,” he said smugly before she quickened her pace to stand in front of him, her eyes burning with tears, her voice cracking and her eyes on him… Just him.

“Next time there's a dance, pluck up the courage to actually ask me properly before someone else does! And not as a last resort or an insult!”

Ron’s smirk faltered his voice cracked like he was hitting puberty again. Her hair had begun to revert for the most part, her eyes steady...not broken --never defeated

“Well… that's...just off the point-- Harry…”

She whirled, not sure why she was upset with Harry beyond the fact that he never seemed to come to her aid though she was always there for him.

“Where have you been?” He opened his mouth and she shook her head, “Never mind. Off to bed, both of you.”

He blinked and looked ahead at Ron walking around her as the last reserves faltered, her mind drew shut like a great iron gate and the first tear fell. She wiped it away trying to calm down.

“They get scary when they get older.”

She whirled with a fury burning her throat, “Ron, you spoil everything!”

They scrambled up the stairs with Harry asked Ron what this was about and Hermione sunk down on the staircase, taking a shuddering breath to hang her head and take off her shoes, not wanting to feel the luxury any longer. She breathed trying to hollow the rageful empty feeling before grabbing her shoes and heading up the stairs. Ron and Harry were in the common room when she arrived, her dress robes gathered in one hand, her shoes in the other.

Harry came to her, ”Hermione…”

“Good night, Harry,” she said walking past them both, refusing to spare Ron a glance.

In the morning, she was gone, her bags packed and taken with her to go home. Ron had seen her bid Viktor goodbye from the window. The two laughing as he straddled his broom and hovered alongside her. It had only burned him more.

“Ron, what's going on with you?” Harry asked with a sigh as they packed to head to the Burrow.

“Me? Shouldn't you be asking her that? She's fraternizing with the enemy.”

“I don't --”

“You didn't see the way she looked at him Harry, all star-eyed like some lovestruck fangirl! What if he tricks her into telling her everything you know about the next task?”

Harry snorted, “Since I don't know anything, and she's stopped asking, I don't think that'll  be a problem.”

“Stopped asking? What if she's helping him, Harry?”

Harry sighed again, “You don't know that.”

“Explain it then Harry? Why he's going after Hermione? All those Durmstrangs around her all the time.”

Harry closed his trunk, “Have you considered that he may actually like her? Perhaps she's made friends?”

Ron scoffed, “As if.”

Harry shook his head, dragging his luggage along to catch the train. They walked past the compartment Hermione occupied speaking with Luna and Ginny and he's surprised that Ginny didn't hex him or Ron upon arriving at the train station.

“Mum! Dad!”

Harry turned seeing Hermione rushing towards her parents, her trunk rolling behind her on her small cart. Mr. Granger cheered catching his daughter's excitement and squeezing her tightly before allowing her mother to get a hug in. He grabbed her suitcase and they walked away from the platform, chatting. Mrs. Weasley came and hurried them along towards the exit to get them all back to the Burrow as quickly as possible.

*

“Let's see those pictures then?”

Hermione grinned across the table at her parents and her grandmother before opening her trunk to pull the collection of pictures out. She'd sent copies to the Nine Muses workshop that morning, leaving these few brilliantly colored photos.

“Dear girl, where did you get this gorgeous gown?” Her grandmother, Hermione, asked looking at the picture.

“The Nine Muses,” she said and her parents looked at her strangely.

“This boy must be from a very rich family to have afforded such a thing...” Her father began regarding the picture suspiciously. 

“He's friends with the sisters… like family.” She said. “They were extremely kind to me…”

Monica gushed over the photos as her father did his best to remain stern.

“He wasn't inappropriate with you? He looks a good deal older that you.”

Hermione shoved her son, “Knock it off. I'm sure he was a perfect gentlemen.”

Hermione smiled at her grandmother and namesake, nodding, “He is.”

He grumbled, eyeing the picture of them side by side in their dress robes. They looked at one another laughing before looking back at him. She gave him a small, shy smile. The boy beside him gave him a smile, his arm at his side, the other on her shoulder, gently. It burned him a little to see his little girl so very grown up, away from him...Living a totally different life that he could only peek into with the Daily Prophet.

The fact that the papers said something about her and Harry and some love triangle between the three of them had shocked him. Not because he thought Hermione would ever play with someone’s heart, but the appearance of the very foreign intruder into his daughter’s life. He’d had sneaking suspicions that either Harry or Ron would end up being his son-in-law one day. Seeing a clearly older teenager interested in his daughter rubbed him all wrong. Harry and Ron were safe, almost negligible in his mind, primarily because the two of them wouldn’t ever realize Hermione’s worth and by then they would be well old enough, well familiar enough that Hermione would just marry them because it was practical. 

When he’d opened the paper to see Hermione and Harry alongside Viktor, then again just before she came home with her twirling around the dancefloor with Viktor, his blood had run cold. Viktor looked at Hermione like a man looks at the woman he intends to have forever, in passion, in love--mind, body and soul. It had freaked him out beyond telling to think that someone had seen what he’d been trying to hide from the world for fifteen years beneath piles of books and knowledge. His little girl would be the kind of woman men  _ dreamt _ about in their empty marriages. 

It was selfish, he knew, to want Hermione to end up with the incredibly safe Harry Potter or Ron Weasley. Selfish, that he wanted her far away from anything that resembled the kind of romance that kept people in love well into the grave because he wanted his little girl to remain his little girl forever… because he wanted to be the only man in her life worth anything. From the look on Viktor’s face, the look on Hermione’s when she looked up at him in the picture, the way that they laughed, it seemed that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

“Viktor...Krum?” Hermione asked looking at her copy of it. “The Seeker?”

Hermione nodded and Monica and Hermione grinned giving her suggestive looks, “Well, well our little Mia pulling the eye of an international star. Did you wow him with your brilliance?”

Hermione shrugged, “I’m… not really sure. I suppose. We met in the library.”

“ _ Ma petite belle _ ,” Monica said, indulgently. “Must it always begin in the library?”

Well, she couldn’t tell them that they’d actually met while she was fighting deranged psychos...They’d never let her go back to school. She only shrugged. 

“It’s my natural habitat?”

“Leave her be Monica,” Hermione said. “He sounds a good deal better than the Weasley boy.”

“Speaking of,” Wendell began. “Why didn’t you go with him? I liked him a great deal more.”

Monica rolled her eyes, “You’ve never met the lad.”

Hermione gripped her hands in her lap, her jaw set tight, “Viktor asked me.”

It’s her tone that drains all the teasing and joy out of the room. It’s cold, distant and angry almost. Apparently, there was a story there. Hermione looked at her son with a meaningful look as his eyes widened at the shift in Hermione’s demeanor. It felt a bit like he was a kid again, the way Hermione’s tone and expression changed. There was a reason they’d named her after his mother-- they had the same way about them. The same way of letting you know that you’d made a wrong turn and it was  _ too late _ to turn back. He couldn’t remember the last time that his daughter had looked like that.

She stood then, pushing in her chair, “Think I’ll take a bit of nap.”

Monica glared at her husband who winced, apparently having tread into dangerous waters more dangerous than he thought. He hadn’t just turned the wrong way, but turned off the edge of a cliff and tumbled down the cliff side into frigid, sharp-rock filled waters. Hermione walked stiffly to her room up the stairs, closing the door behind her softly. She’d never been a child to throw a tantrum… always so very logical, so very… safe and level-headed. The ice in her voice had chilled them all.

“Go on, then,” Monica said. “You did it.”

Wendell sighed and looked to his mother for mercy. Hermione only leveled him with the same stern look she used to give him when dragged his feet taking out the rubbish.

“You heard her.”

No mercy it seemed. He stood up and walked towards his daughter’s room, realizing that he hardly knew her now… Gone for most of the year, only keeping contact through letters and extended Holidays. He knew it was for the best, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He knocked.

“Mia?” He asked softly. “Can I come in?”

“Door’s open,” she said. 

He opened the door to see her sitting on her bed, in the dark. The last of her Yule Ball curls still clinging to form. He swallowed and sat down beside her.  It’s longer than he’s used to with her. Hermione was usually far more merciful with her father’s bumbling, usually she would have said something first, but it seemed that this Hermione was not the same one he’d sent off to school in September. He wondered if Viktor was the reason for it and didn’t ignore the way it made his ears burn with the thought.

“I…I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know,” she said and Wendel grimaced.

“When you say it like that, makes me think you don’t believe me.”

Hermione looked at her father, “Things… have changed, Dad.”

He swallowed, how much had changed? Had her eyes always seemed so… piercing? Had they always seemed to see too much and care so little?

“I thought you liked Ron, dear,” he said, trying to get this conversation over with. “And from what you’ve told me, it seems that he likes you… but just hasn’t figured out how to say so. Or Harry maybe?”

“You think Ron and Harry are safer,” Hermione said flatly. “Because Viktor is older, famous, and foreign.”

Wendell went quiet. He swallowed at her tone. It isn’t angry, it isn’t even biting, it’s just  _ impersonal  _ and so very logical that it feels like a slap to the face. She wasn’t about to play niceties or dance around the issues.

“If I told you the truth, Dad… I’m not even sure your thoughts would change.”

“The truth?” Wendell asked, his eyes narrowing. “What sort of truth?”

She turned away from him not offering him an answer as his stomach dropped, a million horrible possibilities floating through his mind.

“Has Ron… hurt you? Done something to you, sweetheart?”

She scoffed, “He’s a rude, selfish git, but he does need me to pass his classes.”

He seemed to relax, “Well dear… he’s… young. And boys his age don’t have it all together. You can’t expect everyone to have it all together like you.”

Hermione looked at him again, meeting his eyes. She tried to figure out from his expression if maybe he didn’t understand on purpose… If maybe he didn’t see it the way she did. She opened her mouth to explain, to ask, but then closed it. She still hadn’t figured out if he was lying intentionally, by omission, or truly believe what he was saying. She could have peered into his mind, but she promised herself that she wouldn’t abuse her powers that way. It was a slippery slope she couldn’t afford to go down. 

“Give him time,” he advised. “He’ll see.”

She said nothing, turning her face towards the window.

He stood then retreating and she opened her mouth, “If I told you that Viktor has been nothing but a gentlemen in all the months I’ve known him… If I tell you that Ron couldn’t even manage to do anything but insult me… that Harry is a better friend to Ron than he ever has been to me, would it make a difference?”

“I don’t think… you can compare Ron and Viktor. Age...motive...besides, Viktor won’t be there much longer. Maybe when Ron’s the age Viktor is now, you can answer that question, as for Harry… There is a special bond between boys that age, it’s just the way it is.”

She scoffed and said nothing more, just as she thought. He retreated out of the room then and she couldn’t even find it in her heart to feel anything about it. Her eyes catching on the photo of her at the Yule Ball. She couldn’t even recognize herself, how happy she looked, looking up at Viktor, laughing with him. She looked free...So very free. 

She leaned over to the radio on her bedside table to turn on her favorite CD, one she knew hadn’t been moved since she left home that summer. She let out a breath, letting the soothing French wash over her and calm down. She decided to try a bit of meditation, emptying her mind of everything, seeking something deeper than her skin to focus on. She sunk so far down that she hadn’t heard her mother at the door. 

“Mia? Sweetheart?” She peaked in seeing Hermione sitting on her bed, eyes closed, the room oddly warm “Dinner’s ready.”

Hermione didn’t move and Monica swallowed stepping into the room to nudge her. Hermione looked at her, as if through a haze.

“Mom?”

“Dinner’s ready,” she said softly.

“Okay,” she said getting off the bed to follow her out. Monica wasn’t sure what to make of it but as Hermione didn’t seem to be up to talking about it, so she said nothing. 

They managed to get through dinner, the joy having vanished with Hermione’s lackluster mood. Wendell attempted to drum up conversation, but none seemed to carry. When they were done, Hermione washed dishes and went back to her room, the sound of her radio drifting through the wood of her door letting them know that she was still awake. 

“What did you say to her?” Monica asked Wendell.

He shook his head, “Nothing much. Just… I apologized… and then she asked me about Ron and--”

Monica held up her hand, “Never mind Wendell… I have a feeling I know where you’re going.”

He winced, “What?”

“Have you ever considered that Hermione doesn’t tell us everything?”

“Well why not?”

“Because we wouldn’t understand? Because she wants to handle it on her own? Because she  _ doesn’t have to _ ?”

“What does this have to do with her, Harry, Ron and this Viktor boy?”

Monica rolled her eyes, “You’ve only met Ron’s father  _ once _ . You’ve never met Harry. You have no idea how they are together. You only know what she tells you.”

“She said that Ron and Harry have hurt her with words, but nothing else… I mean that’s normal--”

Monica rolled her eyes, “Wendell, just… never mind.”

He huffed feeling that he’d missed something incredibly important, or at the very least she wasn’t understanding his point.

“Ron likes her,” Wendell defensively. “It doesn’t even sound like she’s giving him a chance to figure that out. And what about Harry?”

“It isn’t her responsibility to wait for anyone who can’t see her worth.”

Wendell shut his mouth, the words smacking him full on the face as Monica carried Hermione’s mug full of hot chocolate towards her room. He didn’t see either of them again until the next day when they all went out. He did his best not to say much, just following along as they walked through the area. They watched a play, ate and spent the rest of the time frolicking around in between her training and her competition until it was time to send her back to Hogwarts. Angelo, as usual, made her promise to train and that there would be more competitions when she got out of school to dominate if she wanted… he also insisted that she consider entering the IFS competition when she was eligible. 

“Mia,” Wendell started as she let her grandmother go and turned to him, giving him a hug. “You know this old man loves you, right?”

She nodded, squeezing him tighter.

“I just… I just want what’s best for you.”

_ What’s safest, _ she said. Thinking about how her parents met, frenemies to loves. It was the same story over and over again of boys growing up and girls being patient, forgiving. Of cutting the boy some slack because of some misguided affection, some seed of self-doubt that she could do better, deserved better. It was a narrative that made her not finish books. There’s a word that she wants to use to describe it, but she can’t find it right now.  Regardless, she wasn’t sure she wanted that as she looked at her father. Her father had always been good to her… but there was still that little bit that made her wonder how Monica dealt with it. Something she couldn’t really put her finger on between her parents, the difference in their personalities.

When she waved them goodbye and rushed on to the platform, breathing a steadying breath before handing off her luggage and climbing aboard, she found an empty compartment and let out a breath, opening a book and trying to focus on it when Harry opened the door.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Mind if I join you?”

“Come on in,” she said, looking back at her book.

Harry winced at that. It was never good when Hermione made that face at a book.  Wisely, perhaps, Harry said nothing, opening a book of his own. When the trolly came, he offered her chocolate, hoping that she would at least look at him. She sighed. Harry was never above using her weakness for chocolate against her to try and apologize, to make her feel better, to try and make it better. She could at least make closing her book and regarding him. 

“What is it Harry?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That I’m such a git… That I didn’t say anything… I never seem to be able to say anything…”

Hermione gave him a wry look, “Better late than never.”

She took the chocolate from him, “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You’ll be proofing your own essays for the rest of the year.”

He winced, “Guess, I should ask anyway…”

“What?” She asked absently.

“You… Are you helping Viktor? With the Tournament?”

“Why do you ask?” She asked narrowing her eyes. 

“I just… Ron brought up a good point when he thought… perhaps he may be using you. Not that he couldn’t very well like you all on his own… but… you’re like my sister ‘Mione… I don’t want you hurt.”

Hermione snorted, “Viktor and I talk about classes, family, childhoods… We don’t talk about the tournament.”

Harry nodded slowly, “Not even indirectly.”

“In passing,” she said. “If I’m scolding him.”

He laughed, “That’s Hermione for you… scolding even the most famous of wizards.”

“I’m friends with the Boy Who Lived,” she said. “If I can scold him, I can scold anyone.”

He laughed nodding. Relaxing a bit, he hated when Hermione went cold on him. Ron was his best male friend, but he wasn’t exactly the easiest to talk to with his violent mood swings. Ginny always said that it was an inheritance from Molly. They didn’t see Ron the entire ride back and were a bit glad for it. As they walked towards the castle with their luggage, it didn’t take long before they were easing into the familiarity of being around one another again. Hermione’s nose in her book, talking to him even as she absorbed all the information she could. She didn’t ask about the egg and he was hesitant to bring it up given that they were sort of still on the rocks for his poor ability to stand-up to Ron in her defense. 

He winced. He was the Boy Who Lived, but he couldn’t even stand up to his best friend? How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort?

“Harry, you’re radiating stress,” Hermione said absently, patting his shoulder. “It is much harder to do what is right in relation to your friends than against an enemy.”

He paled and opened his mouth to ask how she knew what he was fretting about, “‘Mione--”

“Hermi-own-nee!”

She looked up and squeaked, ducking as Aleksandr flew by. An annoyed shout after him as she and Harry stood back up. She clutched her book to her chest and looked after him. 

“Sorry!” He yelled down. “Not as good as Viktor.” 

“You are okay?” Viktor asked, practically walking out of the air with his broom in hand. Harry stared at him in surprise as he reached out to touch Hermione’s shoulder, his eyes flickering over her. 

His hand cupped the curve of her cheek, covered in his Quidditch gloves, but so gentle. Harry felt like he was intruding on them. Were they always like this?

“Sasha is fool.”

Hermione smiled and nodded, “I’m fine. Just a little startled.”

Petya smacked Aleksandr over his head as Viktor glared at him, his hand still on her shoulder, feeling the way she still trembled from the fright. 

“You will regret that,” Viktor said in Bulgarian.

Aleksandr grinned, “Doubt.”

Hermione laughed, placing a placating hand on Viktor’s chest. He’d taught her enough to know that he was threatening Aleksandr with pain later. 

“Don’t be upset. I’m perfectly used to it, no harm done.”

Viktor tucked a stray curl, still hanging on to its form from the Yule Ball, behind her ear, so gently while removing a leaf that had fallen into it with a smile. 

“How was competition?” Viktor asked, Harry blinked and looked between them as Hermione beamed. 

“Gold medal as usual,” Hermione said proudly. “Angelo thinks it’ll be enough to get me in.”

Viktor nodded, “Am happy. I know how hard you work. You will get in.”

Hermione shrugged looking away, “I don’t think I’m holding on to that dream anymore.”

“Back-burn,” he said then frowning. 

“Back-burner,” she said with a shake of her head. 

Viktor cracked a smiled, “Yes, back-burner. Dream not forgotten, just on hold.”

Hermione swallowed as he took her hand gently, “Too much ambition to let dream go.”

Harry stood a bit back, looking between the two of them in something like shock. One, why were they so incredibly intimate? They hadn’t known each other for more than a few months! Two, why did he feel like he should be shoving them away from one another while still pushing them together? He chocked that up to knowing that Ron fancied Hermione and the fact that he wanted her to be happy. And three, what competition? Get in where? Was Hermione planning on leaving the wizarding world in the future?

“Is good to see you,” Viktor said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Must get back to practice, but will see you for dinner, yes?”

“Sure,” she said watching him place a foot on the elegant crossbar of his broom and letting it carry him away from her, before swinging onto his broom and chasing after Aleksandr who waved goodbye and streaked off towards the pitch. She watched him flying, corkscrewing to pull Aleksandr’s cloak over his head and zoom past. Harry looked at her as she laughed, taking his arm and continuing into the castle. The made it up to Gryffindor tower to unpack before coming back down for an early dinner. 

“Hermione,” Harry said and she smiled humorously as he pulled his best brotherly expression… or something like that anyway. “What competition?”

Hermione snorted, “Well Harry, that’s a long story.”

“Over dinner then? Unless you’re going to go sit with Viktor?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” she said. “Can you imagine the uproar of me sitting at the Slytherin table?”

He shrugged and followed her out of the common room and down the stairs. As they headed towards the Great Hall, Harry lost sight of her as the group of Durmstrang students who’d met Hermione seemed to swarm, recognizing her from the ball with Viktor, introducing themselves with smiles and hugs before Viktor appeared nodding his head, shoving them into the Great Hall table, and apologizing for them.

“They are... “he fumbled,glaring over at them as they cheered happily. “Fools.”

She shook her head, “It’s okay. They seem very nice.”

Viktor let out a breath, passing a hand over her cheek, “They take introduction too far because of Sasha.”

Hermione tilted her head as Harry told her that he’d catch up with her at the table. Viktor watched him go and saw Ron glaring over at them, tearing into his food angrily.

“Forgive them, I will talk to them.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione said. “They seem all very… brotherly. They called me sister.”

“You… understand German?”

She nodded, “Ja, ich verstehe Deutsch, obwohl ich von meinen Akzent nicht sicher bin.”*

His eyes lit up grinning, “Ihr Akzent ist sehr gut. Das ist viel einfacher als Englisch.”**

She laughed and told him to hurry along to where his brothers in arms were waiting for him at the Slytherin table before heading towards the Gryffindor table. It was immediate that she was swarmed by girls from every house, badgering her with a million question, so many that she couldn’t answer them all. 

Viktor didn’t seem to be in a better place, the exception being that all of the Durmstrang guys seemed to be familiar with him.

Owls hooted above them and Hermione almost shrieked at the rain of envelopes all over her plate while the Durmstrang section went up in laughter at the pile of mail raining down on him. She laughed before looking over the letter, confused as to what they could be about, not recognizing any of the addresses. She frowned trying to reach for her plate beneath them all, but he thud of the table and the time lapsed seemed to have activated whatever was in the envelope, she threw her arms up, casting a shield charm around it as it exploded, the sizzling of acid through the table, she swung her wand to collect the acid and lift all the mail watching it all melt together in the hovering bubble. 

“Hermione, are you okay?” Harry asked as she breathed and looked at the melting mail. 

She nodded, “I’m… fine.”

Severus came down the aisle to collect the bubble giving Hermione a meaningful glance before walking on. She could only bet that the shadow clone of her gown was in tatters, if not ashes and shook her head before sitting back down. For the moment, it seemed that Harry had forgotten about the mention of the competition which meant that she didn’t have to explain.  When she checked it after dinner, she found that she'd been right and her trunk had been assaulted. Though it was charmed to withstand practically anything, the area around it was not. Her cupboard was emptied on to the floor in a childish show of anger more than likely. 

She spelled the mess clean and back into place before going downstairs to enjoy a bit of time with Harry before heading to the library and potentially to a session with Severus. She grabbed the hair piece Viktor had made of her and pulled her hair back and out of he r face before carrying her bag down the stairs and into the common room. 

Harry looked up, his Charms book in his lap as she sat down on the couch, lounging against the chair’s arm. Ron sat not too far away glaring at chess pieces and playing a game with himself. Once settled, she opened her latest book on defensive and protective enchantments

“Hermione,” Harry started looking at the strange blood red stretchy clip in her hair. It seemed to be part quill, the combs made of a bunch of quill ends. “Where’d you get that?”

Hermione didn’t look up from her book, “Viktor made it for me after a quill broke in my hair.”

Before she realized it, there were hands on her head, snatching it free from her hair and she screamed at the tug on her scalp. Turning in time to see it tossed into the fire. Hermione doused the flames, moving to see if she could repair it but it had gone up in ashes and her hair came tumbling, expanding into its usual volume. Harry’s jaw dropped and Hermione whipped around to see Ron looking accomplished.

“You…” Her eyes narrowed, “Complete arse!”

“It was probably spelled,” Ron said. “Those Durmstrangs practice dark magic, you know? Maybe now you can get your head out of the skies. And focus--”

“I have had quite enough of you Ronald Weasley,” she hissed. “What is your  _ problem? _ ”

“My problem? You’re the one receiving acid mail! Hanging out with a bunch of Durmstrangs who are definitely not hanging out with you for your looks!”

Hermione swallowed, “Just because it’s taken you four years to realize that I’m a girl doesn’t mean the rest of the world is as daft!”

“What does that have to do with anything? He’s clearly using you.”

“ _ Using me? _ Who is it that begs me to help them with their homework, begs me to give them my notes to study with without so much as a thanks?! If anything, you’re using me!”

“For what? I don’t need you.”

“Good!” Hermione said. “Act like it. I don’t want to hear anything about Potions, or Transfigurations. Nothing!”

“Fine! Don’t come crying to me when he throws you away.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him, “Viktor has been nothing but a gentlemen--”

“Of course he has,” Ron said rolling his eyes. “You’re younger and obviously attention starved. You’re  _ easy _ .”

“Ron!” Harry yelled. “How dare you--”

In a flurry of movement, she’d turned from the room. 

“Hermione!”

She didn’t hear Harry, her cloak billowing out behind her as she marched down the stairs, her bag across her body. The crowds parted, insults and comments dying at her expression. She looked like a woman on a warpath. She heard the familiar sound of Durmstrang boots and turned, hopping over the openings in the corridor to march across the courtyard. The clouds seemed to twist with lightning listening to her mood, threatening to rain, but it didn’t come as she marched out beyond the edge of the courtyard before she broke into a run, streaking through the forest, past Hagrid’s hut towards a clearing deeper in the forest where there had been an out-cropping of rock overlooking  the cliffs leading to the bridge leading to the castle. 

She cast a privacy charm around the area and a shield before turning to the outcropping of rock and firing spell after spell. Transfiguring it, animating it and attacking it with every spell she knew, no words just cold fury and magic.

Viktor had seen her streaking across the courtyard and handed his bag off to Petya who shoved him to get going. He enlarged his broom mid run and let it carry him off, swinging up on it to track her through the forest. She stopped suddenly, the clearing was covered in a protective bubble, and silenced, but he didn’t need to hear to understand fury when he saw it. He drifted down, watching her fire spells at the animated pieces of rock she’d made, as she cast hexes and jinxes in a seemingly regular pattern before a transfiguration crumbled and the gates of hell opened in her.  Great blasts of light struck out destroying rock, earth, and tree all the same until she couldn’t hold herself any longer, one last spell that tossed her back and through her shield. He dropped in time to catch her, dismounting easily to lower her to the ground as she panted looking up at Viktor. 

“Hermy-own?” He asked softly, “Are you okay?”

She looked at him lost for a moment, realizing that she was trembling, cold. He pulled his coat off to put her in it before putting his hat on her head and pulling her close, hushing her gently. 

“It will be okay,” he said, wiping her tears and rocking her gently as she closed her hand in his shirt, silent in fury. “No need to talk, just... “

He swallowed not sure what to do, sitting down with her in his lap. A hand on the nape of her neck, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she shook. He had no idea how long it took for her to come back to herself before she looked up as if through a haze.

“Viktor?”

“Da,” he said softly. “I am here.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, soft ashamed.

His stomach flipped, his heart sunk.

“For what?”

“I’m not a seventh year,” she said. Viktor felt some of the tension drain out of him. 

“You are...sixth?”

“I’m a fourth year,” she said.

His eyes widened as she looked up at him, a little nervous, a lot scared, but none of that had overpowered the lost and empty feeling he was getting from her. He could bet that her mood had less to do with telling him she was younger than he thought and more to do with the idiot red head he really didn’t like. 

“I’m sorry that I… let you think that.”

“You are not responsible for… assumption… but pride is wounded… Bested by fourth year…”

He sighed, “If your name in cup, would stand no chance.”

She laughed looking up at his face, “You… aren’t angry?”

“Why? Three years is nothing,” he said with a shrug. 

“And… you’re not curious as to why I can… do the things I can?”

Viktor hummed, “Curious… yes. But secrets are kept for reason...Just wish to make easy, that secret not keep you from me. I have secrets, maybe one day you tell, maybe one day you not--does not matter, if they not keep you from me.”

She looked at him wryly, “Well… at least that went well.”

“We talk now? Why you are upset?””

She sighed, “It’s...just…”

“I have upset you?”

She shook her head, “No, not at all. You’ve been… wonderful… It’s just.”

He watched her expression waiting for her to figure out the words. 

“I told you I’m not exactly… anyone’s favorite.”

“Are my favorite,” Viktor said kindly, resting his forehead against hers. “Others are fools.”

She chuckled a bit meeting his eyes and realizing… exactly how close he was, how intimate it felt wrapped in his cloak, wearing his hat, in his lap with eyes so dark she felt she may never see light again… May never want to again. 

“I...” his eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips, soft, inviting and parted as she stared at him. 

“What?” she breathed.

Viktor licked his lips, cupping the nape of her neck gently and pressing her closer to him, leaning forward until their lips brushed and she jumped at the shock.

“I may?” He breathed, she couldn’t find the word but nodded slightly and  squirmed at the nervous feeling in her stomach as his lips met hers and pressed, so gently. It’s a gentle press, tender and almost innocent that makes her head spin. 

She isn’t prepared for it again, the way his arm tightened around her waist and the hold on the back of her neck because more insistent, a barely bridled need and harsh breathing. She whimpered, squirming in his lap and he backed off almost like he’d been shocked to look her in the eyes. 

“Is… okay? Not too far?”

Hermione swallowed, nodding, “It’s okay.”

Viktor let out a breath, licking his lips as if chasing the taste of her before smiling, “You are… amazing.”

Hermione smiled, “You are.”

Viktor looked away from her, “Am trying to be gentlemen...to help feel better…”

Hermione shook her head, “I’ll be fine in time. Just need to calm down and stay away from… certain aggravating parties.”

Viktor and hummed, forcing himself to stand with her in his arms and settle her on her feet.

“You… trust me, Hermi-own-nee?”

She nodded as he flushed at the butchering of her name again. He pulled out his broom and enlarged it, holding it in his hand.It isn’t the one he flew on for the World Cup. It didn’t look like a Firebolt or a Nimbus, but it had a certain kind of aesthetic that made her think it was dear to him all black and clearly well maintained, since she knew how often he maintained his team’s broom, she could only guess that this one was taken care of far more extensively. 

“Grandfather was great flyer… work for Ministry-- killed by dark wizard who went to Durmstrang… Grandmother is broom maker, make special for grandfather. Give me grandfather’s broom when small… taught me to fly when home was hard,” Viktor said looking at it. “I did not speak a lot for long time, but I always fly… Helps, makes lighter…”

“Lighter?” She asked eyeing his broom warily.

He nodded, “She tell me ground keep grounded, heavy… too close to problems. In air, problems seem smaller, lighter, you lighter… easy to let go.”

Hermione blinked looking at him as he offered his hand, “Will let me take you flying?”

Hermione worried her lip, “I… I don’t really like flying.”

“I know, you said before. No pressure,” Viktor said. “Just… thought it may help...you always very grounded… never seem to let go and feel. To fly is to… feel only.”

Hermione swallowed taking his hand and watching his smile light up as he set his broom down, guiding her to stand in front of him.

_ Hope, _ he felt.  _ Trust... _ She trusted him and that made him feel like he was flying already.

“I will be here, you will not fall, promise.”

She nodded as he took her hand and extended it over the broom, the ghosting of his words, his accent over her ear, making her heart race and her mind clear.

“Must trust broom… broom knows when not trusting.”

She nodded. 

“Command: Up.”

She took a breath, “Up!”

The broom flew into her hand shocking her for a moment. The first it had taken a full ten minutes of yelling at the broom before it came to her.

“Is old broom, heavy maintenance by grandmother-- made new. Cushion charm and anchor… my own broom,” Viktor told her, guiding her to straddle the broom and grip tightly. She quaked, looking at her hands around the broom stick before he straddled the broom behind her, his feet on the crossbars and leaned forward so his arms were around her waist and hands gripped the stick framing her smaller hands. He leaned, nuzzling her to speak into her ear.

“Relax, I will steer. Will not let you fall. Hold on.”

“V-Viktor? We… Can we go slow?”

“Of course,” he said, kissing the shell of her ear. “Not high for now, just float.”

She swallowed feeling the broomstick rise to level itself and hover. She breathed slowly, comforted by the warmth of him behind her, leaning forward to cage her between him and the broom.

“ _ Easy, _ ” he whispered in her ear as she quaked. “Slow. Trust me.”

She nodded as he made the broom go a bit higher and move forward slowly. She gripped the broomstick tight and made her eyes remain open as he made the broom go higher to the just above the trees and slowly head back towards the castle.

“Beautiful, no?” Viktor said as the castle came into view, lit up under the chill of the winter night. 

“How are you not freezing?” Hermione asked.

He chuckled in her ear, “Beautiful girl with me, hard to be cold.”

She shut her mouth and he laughed at her reaction, turning slowly, feeling her relax as they made a few paths around the castle.

“Not so scary yes?”

“No.”

He nodded, resting his chin on her shoulder, “You steer.”

“What?”

He moved his hands closer to her hips, keeping her locked between him and the broom.

“Steer,” he said. “I will be here. Trust broom.”

Hermione let out a breath and gripping the broomstick and thinking that she just didn’t want to think for a moment. Her thoughts seemed to be making her life harder as of late. So many secrets there... She screamed as it shot up into the sky towards the clouds before stopping its ascent and letting them free fall. She screamed her heart racing as Viktor told her to breath and took control of the broom, diving down and curving, streaking over the Black Lake. She hadn’t stopped screaming as he steered the broom to slow down a bit, yet still too fast for her tastes. 

“What did you tell broom?”

“That I didn’t want to think! Make it stop! Viktor, please!”

He smiled as she closed her eyes, “You have given broom direction, must take it back.”

“I take it back! I take it back!”

Viktor laughed as they went barrelling towards the cliff and down. She screamed as he held tight, caging her to the broom and breathed through the fall. The vertigo taking over and flooding his brain with quiet. For the first time, his broom wasn’t listening to him, but keyed into Hermione, perhaps seeking to terrify her as it barrel rolled them and corkscrewed them up, floating above the clouds and coasting gently as she shook, clutching the broomstick. Perhaps to do this for him so they could have this time together.

“You are alright?”

“You said trust the broom!”

“You did,” Viktor said. “Broom listen to heart. You are not thinking, yes?’

“Yes, but…” Viktor smiled as she turned her head towards him and kissed her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

“You trust broom, will listen,” Viktor said, pressing another kiss to the nape of her neck.. 

“Can we go back now?”

Viktor laughed, moving his hands to above hers and steering them back towards the castle.

“Viktor?”

“Da?”

“Thank you,” she said. “I... know you’ve probably flown with plenty of girls, but thanks for sharing this with me.”

“No other girl,” Viktor said. “Flight is too personal.”

She smiled at that, not saying much else before floating down. He tilted the broom down to stand on the crossbar and step down to the ground, holding the broom and offering her his hand to help her step down. There were people gawking at them as he walked her into the castle and towards Gryffindor tower.

“Thank you,” she said again.

Viktor smiled, “You are welcome. Perhaps you will let me take you flying again? Instead of blasting forest?”

She scoffed, “Don’t test your luck.”

Viktor threw his head back and laughed as the stairs stopped and he walked her up the rest of the way and down the hallway towards the Fat Lady’s painting. She looked up at him and shook her head, pulling his hat off to set on top of his head as he leaned down and pulled off his coat to offer it to him. He shrugged it on and kissed her, a gentle brief kiss, but more than enough to make her lose all sense for a few moments. 

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

She looked at him, “I’m beginning to think you mess up my name on purpose because you know I think it’s adorable.”

His jaw dropped, “I said it properly?  __ Po dyavolite! ”

He flushed wincing as she laughed at his cursing, “I am sorry, not usually so rude… Frustrated… butchering na--”

She kissed his cheek, quieting him in shock.

“Fairy lights,” she said softly, making the portrait swing open. “Goodnight Viktor.”

He smiled after her, “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- Yes, I understand German, though I am not certain of my accent.   
> **--Your accent is very good. This is much easier than English.


	10. Black Lake

She heard nothing, felt nothing… She couldn’t remember why either… Just that it was quiet and it didn’t hurt here… It felt a bit like flying too fast, falling through the air to oblivion--without the screaming of course. It was so… quiet. Different than the quiet she reached in meditation, or when she read through the night… different than sleep. 

But she wasn’t cold, warm even like Viktor had wrapped her in his cloak. 

That was until she took a breath, eyes open to the Feburary light and she remembered that Harry hadn’t figured out how to breathe underwater for an hour… That he hadn’t figured out anything while Viktor… Viktor had…

The underside of a shark morphing into the face she recognized and stroking closer to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, treading water and pulling her up against him, warm despite the arctic nature of the water, her teeth chattered as she nodded and let him stroke them towards the platform. 

Karkaroff grinned with approval, but Viktor paid no heed, lifting her up into Aleksandr and Petya’s awaiting arms. They wrapped her in a warming robe and towel, quickly as Viktor pulled himself out of the water, shaking off the after effects of his transfiguration before taking the warming towel around his shoulders and putting it around her as her teeth chattered.  He rubbed her hair, trying to help it dry, squeezing the water out of it and worried. 

“I’m okay.”

He nodded cupping her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Viktor, you’ll freeze to death,” Antonio said, grabbing another towel and robe to wrap around him, daring him to take it off as Hermione stood, searching the water. 

_ Harry… _

“Come,” Viktor said, helping her up and pulling her further back on the platform for a seat and something hot to drink. She glanced at the board, the clock and swallowed. The hour was almost over and Harry still hadn’t surfaced with his hostage.

“He will be alright,” Viktor said. “Saw him getting Ron.”

Hermione nodded and turned at the next round of cheering. Viktor tilted his head as Kakaroff came towards them. 

“Go,” he said. “Do not want you near Kakaroff.”

Hermione nodded and stood, slipping around the back towards the Hogwarts side as Ron was pulled out of the water, Fleur’s little sister just after. 

“Harry,” she whispered, searching the water when she heard the splash and the thump of his body on the plank. She moved quickly through the crowd as he shivered and put the extra warming towel around him. Fleur kissed his cheek in gratitude, then Ron’s before vanishing back to her side of the platform.

“She didn’t make it past ‘ze Grindelows,” she explained. “You’re at least third.”

Harry gave her a wry smile and once the announcement of him placing second due to “outstanding moral fiber” she couldn’t help but hug him in congratulations. She stood, turning to look at the board. Harry and Viktor had tied for second place, which would decide something for the next round she was sure. 

She scanned the crowd for Viktor, catching a glimpse of him being pulled along into a ship heading back to the mainland. Petya looked angry and she worried her lip. She helped Harry get up and back to the castle. After a hot bath, she hurried down the stairs, grabbing as much food as she could as quickly as she could, avoiding touching the pile of mail she’d received until she could find letters she recognized, including a note from Petya.

_ Hermione, _

_ Please meet Viktor in the tower. He is in bad shape, but we can not go to him to help. Kakaroff is watching. _

_ Please,  _

_ Petya _ .

She swallowed looking across the hall to where the Durmstrang boys remained silent, seeming to seethe under Kakaroff’s watchful eye. She turned from the hall and headed as quickly as she could towards the tower she usually used for practice, finding him there staring out over the edge of it in the bracing wind. How he wasn’t dizzy from staring out and down the fall, she didn’t know, but she did realize that there were no warming charms cast and even with his experience with the cold, he had to be freezing.

“Viktor?”

He turned, his eye black and the fact that he was protecting his other arm and ribs became apparent.

“Viktor…” she whispered coming to him and pulling out her wand.

“Petya,” he cursed, before pressing her hands back gently. “You should go. Kakaroff--”

“Can jump off a cliff and you will be quiet and let me heal you.”

He swallowed at her tone before turning towards her and letting her lean him back against the wall, opening his coat, casting a shallow cutting curse to open his shirt. He laughed, pained.

“Not how I imagined this…” he whispered.

She cast him a glance and ignored the warmth of his skin, the muscle tone to press gently against the growing bruise and bleeding gash.

“What happened Viktor?”

“Kakaroff not happy with me.” Viktor explained. “Not happy I take you to ball… not happy I look after you for Second Task. Argue with him. He said… bad things, could not forgive.”

Hermione worried her lip, drawing her hand over his arm that was also bleeding.

“Your… wand arm?”

“I did to block spell,” he said. “Made him angrier.”

“Viktor,” she said softly.

“Is complicated,” Viktor said. “Kakaroff close to parents. They listen to him before me. ”

Hermione licked her lips, “That doesn’t excuse this, your face.”

“Call it discipline,” he said bitterly. “You… do not fear?”

“I fear for you.”

“Family is not pretty…”

“You are amazing,” Hermione gave him a wry look, “I… don’t have anything for the pain.”

“A kiss,” he said. “Would be nice.”

Hermione swallowed but pressed her lips to his, not expecting his hand to wrap around the back of her neck, holding her to him and his tongue to plunder her mouth, making her nearly forget to be careful of his injury and lean forward, dizzy with the feeling of his tongue in her mouth, drawing sparks along the roof of her mouth, a wave of heat through her. She whimpered, squirming, pressing her thighs together trying to get the feeling under control, but it didn’t work, only making it worse so she moaned softly as he pulled away. Her eyes hazy, his face flushed, breathing harshly.

“No more pain,” he said. 

She swallowed and nodded, pulling back, her eyes fluttering as she moved, sending another shock of something through her. She took a breath and aimed her wand properly, remembering the gentle waving of her wand and the words to go with it as he groaned, bones popping into place and healing themselves, inflammation reducing and the lesion sealing closed without a scar.

He panted, “Please… wait… for arm.”

Hermione leaned forward, pressing her lips to his again, earning his deep groan and a rumbling curse as he used his uninjured arm to pull her into his lap, careful to kiss her gently, her cheek, chin, and drawing his tongue down the side of her neck so she cried out and he drew back shocked at himself and stammering his apology. 

“Sorry… Her--” She cut him off, her lips on his and he pulled back again, “Is not right. Would not dishonor you.”

Hermione blinked slow, “What?”

“You are...fifteen-- not right.”

Hermione worried her lip, “Sixteen, if you count time turning..”

He looked at her incredulously before letting out a scoff of a chuckle and nodding, “Not better.”

She worried her lip, turning her head to focus on his arm, he hissed at the pain and she pressed her lips to his again, pulling him forward so he could muffle the sound in the curve of her neck, mouth open against her skin, biting just hard enough to make her moan as his bones realigned and his muscles healed. 

“ _ Hermio…”  _ he slurred, “I...won’t--”

Hermione cupped his jaw, “I trust you.”

Their eyes met, “I think I’m well old enough to know what I want.”

Viktor sighed, “Is different… not like book.”

“I know that.”

“Not at all like book,” he said. “I can not.”

Hermione swallowed, turning his face gently to focus on his eye and whispering over the  bruise and watching it heal and Viktor’s face return to normal. He looked at her. 

“Better?”

Hermione hummed and shrugged, causing him to grab her, tickling her so she shrieked with laughter, before pulling her close and kissing her head. 

“Thank you.”

Hermione nodded against his shoulder.

“I will be okay,” Viktor assured, pressing another kiss to her hair, stroking her hair and squeezing her close. 

Hermione nodded knowing she didn’t really have a choice but to believe him.


	11. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Maze...

Hermione followed Petya’s suggestion. He didn’t know where Viktor had gone, but he hadn’t gone on his broom. She had a feeling she knew where and took Viktor’s broom from Petya’s hand, worrying her lip and mounting it, feeling it hover. Maybe recognizing her, maybe just anxious to find its owner.

“Take me to Viktor?” She asked and felt it ascend.

Petya’s jaw dropped before he looked at Antonio, “Did you know about that?”

He shook his head, just as shocked. That broom was the very first broom that Viktor ever owned, given to him by his grandmother. He’d had it maintenanced frequently and it was still the most tempermental broom they’d ever encountered. Petya thought once that Viktor’s grandfather, who’d owned the broom before Viktor, had put a piece of himself in it before he died, but that hadn't been confirmed yet.

Hermione wasn’t surprised at the path the broom took towards Viktor, her special clearing near the cliffs. She breathed out and dismounted as it lowered itself just outside of Viktor’s charmed circle. He wasn’t just casting spells but punching whatever he could reach, screaming trying to wear himself out and she watched for a moment before pressing her hand to the barrier and feeling it dissolve unmuting Viktor’s screaming. He whirled on her and went pale seeing her standing there with his broom. He backed away and turned, looking down. 

“Please go,” he said roughly. “Can not be trusted… I…”

Hermione walked forward, setting his broom against a tree and transfiguring a pillar out of the stone around them as he continued to step away from her, backing himself up against the pillar and casting his wand aside to be safe, cringing and holding up his hands warding her off.

“ _ Please _ ,” he said. “ _ Go. _ ”

She moved his hands aside and wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the gentle pushing at her shoulders, his hands shaking. 

“Even now,” he said, trying to still his shaking hands, to control his shuddering breath. “Even now… someone, anyone… that person could.”

She held on to him, ignoring his pleas as the fight began to drain out of him leaving his voice cracking and rough above her, his arms weak at his sides.

“Mila, please,” he said. “Do not… wish to hurt you, please.”

“You won’t.”

“You do not understand! That person could…” he swallowed thickly, his strength failing him or maybe his pain, his exhaustion from not sleeping or eating for days since Cedric’s death. She took the brunt of his weight and lowered them down as the tears came and he clung to her, crying into her shoulder. Trembling and forcing words out of his mouth. Some of it English, some of it Bulgarian, but she caught what was important. 

_ Imperius...Cruciatus… Cedric...Harry. _

“ Ne mozhekh da spra, _ ”  _ he sobbed half pushing her away, half clinging to her, nodding his head into her shoulder and shaking. “I fight… but too weak...Kakaroff was right...weak...Please, mila… could not bear to harm you.”

She hushed him, stroking his short hair and holding him, coaxing him to sit so she could crawl into his lap, and hold him even as he begged her to go and clung to her. 

“Hermion-nee,” he pleaded. “Molya otidete.”*

“No,” she said softly. “It wasn’t your fault, Viktor. What happened to Cedric...had nothing to do with you. You were under a curse, it wasn’t you.”

“I...I am Durmstrang strong, not puppet, but I--”

She cupped his jaw and forced him to look at her, “You are not a puppet. You fought. It would have been… so much worse if you didn’t. It is not your fault.”

Viktor took a shuddering breath as she stroked her face, “ I know you Viktor… You wouldn’t ever hurt someone like that. You are strong. Being under an Imperius Curse doesn’t make you weak--it just means you were cursed. It doesn’t mean that you can’t be trusted--it means you know that you can work towards being unaffected by the curse. You’re alive when you couldn’t have been, VIktor. Doesn’t that count for something?”

He swallowed thickly, his jaw trembling and he shook his head as she nodded, “Da.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead gently, “I trust you Viktor… Imperius curse or not. You won’t hurt me.”

Viktor let out a shuddering breath, pulling her closer, “How can you be sure?”

She smiled, “Petya says you’re harmless, like a rabbit.”

He blinked and glowered, letting out a sigh before she tilted his head up and pressed a kiss to his lips, “I trust you.”

“You should not.”

“I do,” she said. “You haven’t given me a reason not to.”

Viktor was going to protest but she kissed him again, her hands gentle as they wiped the tears away. His arms tightened, taking a moment’s refuge in the feeling of her lips, his mind clearing at the solid weight of her in his lap, grounding him, reminding him that he was in control, he was here. There was no one controlling his body, binding him in the dark. 

She drew back, hushing the soft whimper that escaped him before pulling out a vial and pressing her wand against his temple. She closed her eyes and Viktor felt something tug loose from his skull, a dainty silver wisp that she placed in the vial. 

“When you’re ready to see the moment for what it is,” Hermione said giving him the vial. “Find a Pensieve and pour it in. You’re so much stronger than you think Viktor.”

He nodded slowly accepting another kiss. She shifted and caused him to groan, placing his hands on her hips and lift her off him with a flush. 

“Is difficult, too grounded perhaps.”

She looked down and then away quickly seeing the hard line of arousal in his already fitted trousers. She stood on her own legs, straddling his legs and backed away as he managed to get himself up without hissing too much. He bent in half, leaning against the pillar.

“Does it hurt?” She asked a little embarrassed that she did.

“Not so much hurt as… uncomfortable,” Viktor said easily looking over at her. “Will be fine… You… rode broom here?”

She nodded, “I… asked it to take me to you.”

“Is best broom,” Viktor said, “Only one with anchor. Can always find me.”

Hermione nodded, tucking that away as he straightened with a breath and walked towards her, “Cannot ride broom, but can walk back to castle.”

She laughed, taking his arm as he grabbed his broomstick and led her back towards the castle. Petya and Aleksandr waited for them in the courtyard, overjoyed when Hermione and Viktor broke through the treeline. Viktor kissed her hand at the entrance to the castle saying that he had to help make sure they were ready to sail in the morning.

“I take it that Kakaroff wasn’t really required to steer the ship…”

Antonio snorted, “He was of no help… Though I think we shall have more to burn on the way back thanks to Viktor’s fans.”

He flushed.

“What?”

“Lace does burn rather well,” Antonio grinned, “Perhaps you have a pair to give him too? I’m sure he wouldn’t burn those.”

“Antonio!” Viktor growled and Hermione blinked, a little unsure of what they were talking about before she covered her mouth. 

“That… actually happens?” Hermoine asked. “What a waste of money! And creepy! Sending stranger your knickers!”

They burst into laughter at her indignation, nudging Viktor who only grew redder and promptly shoved them away. 

“Will be back for dinner…”

Hermione nodded and smiled as he kissed her cheek, walking into the castle. She made it to her room and considered her trunk before opening it.

“Where have you been?” Ginny asked. 

“Out,” she answered easily, shifting through the trunk to find the book she was looking for. 

She remembered finding it crammed beneath a stack of books in the Hogsmeade bookshop. She’d read it to be safe, to be prepared, though now she felt that Viktor needed it more. So she wrapped it in a letter and sealed it with a dollop of wax before heading to the owlry. She gave him the package to one of them and headed to dinner. Harry was silent, barely picking at his food, Ron said nothing as she sat down. 

“At least the Durmstrangs will be gone,” someone said down the way. “Sad to see the Beauxbatons leave…”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “You’re more concerned with their skirts.”

Hermione looked at Harry who remained silent before Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, “Harry?”

He looked at her, “It will be okay.”

He nodded forcing a mouthful of chicken into his mouth and chewing quietly. When the mail came, she was already prepared, catching it all in a magic bubble and watching as Viktor caught the parcel and ignored the rest of the letters that came raining down. 

“On the best side of things, Rita Skeeter won’t be spreading any more lies.”

Harry turned his head, “How do you figure?”

“Let’s just say I… have a bit of leverage,” Hermione said with a sly smile. 

A bit of leverage that Rita wouldn’t ever doubt or cross considering the length of time in Azkaban she had to look forward to if she did.

Ron shuddered, “Think you’re going a bit Slytherin on us.”

Hermione looked at him, “Just resourceful.”

In the morning, Viktor is the last to board the ship, looking for Hermione who is not as easy to find in a crowd as you would think. The parcel she’d sent him, still unopened in his cloak pocket. He found her, sliding in between her and group of girls to lean close.

“Viktor?”

“This is for you,” he said giving her a small square of parchment, refusing to let himself chicken out. “Write to me? Promise?”

She nodded slightly, smiling at the piece of parchment before turning to watch him go with his Durmstrang staff, rushing towards the boat. 

She moved towards the dock where Aleksandr, Antonio, and Petya waved at her, yelling that she’d better write them back over the summer. Standing on the edge, she opened the parchment and smiled. VIktor’s address and a note inviting her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer. 

_ Think on it,  _  he wrote.  _ Summer is long time. _

She watched the ship sail until it was too far to see anyone on the deck and it submerged itself half way. Yes, the summer was a long time. 

Viktor, set his staff down in his cabin, his cloak down and took a breath before pulling out the parcel Hermione sent him. He smiled realizing that it was a book as he opened it and read the letter attached.

_ Dear Viktor,  _

_ I found this book in a shop that we are forbidden to go to by friends. It was the one book I managed to sneak and buy my first year at Hogsmeade. I read it to be prepared, I believe I should give it to you so you can heal.  _

_ Take care of yourself and I hope we’ll see each other again,  _

_ Hermoine G. _

He smiled at the address written at the bottom of the note and looked at the book opening it and swallowed… A theory on the defense against the Unforgiveables…

“Viktor?” Petya called from outside his door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Viktor said and looked up at his friend coming in. 

“How… are you?”

VIktor looked at the book in his hand and the letter, “I… I will be alright. I think.”

“And your Snitch?”

He glowered at him, “She is… young, but very strong. I think… we have a chance maybe in the future.”

He sighed, “For now… I deal with the past.”

Petya nodded, “I understand. We’re here for you… Whenever you need us.”

Viktor nodded as Petya grinned. 

“Wait till we tell Cyrus you have an English girlfriend.”

VIktor rolled his eyes, “I will throttle you.”

Viktor would have truly, but upon arriving at Durmstrang’s coast and beginning the procession up to the school, he realized that something had undeniably changed. For one, the Bulgarian Minister of Magic stood there with several others and informed him that he was under arrest for a myriad of things. 

“Will you comply to be interrogated or will we have to force you in?”

“Viktor,” Cyrus called grinning at their return, his expression faltering upon seeing Viktor hand his staff to Petya. He pulled off his coat and handed over his things to Aleksandr, entrusting Cyrus with his broom before offering his wrists to the minister. 

The book and vial in his pocket were the only things that steadied his breath. 

“What…” Cyrus started looking at him, holding his broom. 

“I will be back,” Viktor said with a nod and letting them apparate him to the Bulgarian Hall of Magic. They walked him through the veil and down to the interrogation room. The woman who would be serving as his defense was apparently not only a fan but a friend of the family, a friend of his grandmother. 

“They weren’t told much,” she told him. “Just that there were questions about the competition.”

Viktor shook his head but knew that his grandmother knew more than that if she’d had the foresight to send him a defense. 

They sat him down in the chair and he felt the chair lock around his wrists. They’d taken his wand, the book and the vial from his pocket. 

“It’s the memory,” Viktor told them. “They’re… gifts to help. I was told that when I was ready to face it as it happened, I should use a Pensieve.”

The minister looked at him strangely and regarded the items, perusing the book and then asking if he’d submit to taking Veritaserum. 

“Yes,” he said shakily, his stomach twisting, the words of derision, whispers about the darkness of Kakaroff being a part the Institute now, infecting Viktor…

He opened his mouth and allowed them to pour it into his mouth, closing his eyes and swallowing it as someone summoned a pensieve and poured the contents of the vial into it. He looked up as it settled into his blood to see Fleur there, a few representatives of the English and French wizarding governments, the current headmaster of Durmstrang now that Kakaroff had vanished.

He heard their questions through the haze of the veritaserum, eyes open and staring blankly as he told them. He’d gone in after Cedric and Harry. He’d felt someone coming up behind him and then there had been the haze. The darkness and he couldn’t… feel anything, hear nothing but the voice whispering. 

Get rid of Fleur.

Get rid of Cedric.

Then his own seemingly drowned beneath miles of darkness fighting and screaming for it to stop, seeing his wand move. 

The voice told him Cruciatus. 

He’d stunned her instead. It made him move through the maze, following Cedric’s path through the maze. 

_ Cruciatus, _ the sniveling voice commanded and he screamed, missing the first time. Landing a weak curse on Cedric the second and still screaming before everything went dark. 

The Bulgarian Minister, the British, and French one as well peered into the pensieve and looked at one another before releasing Viktor and placing the memory back into his mind. His new Headmaster, placed a hand on his shoulder as he looked up and gave him a smile, handing his book back to him. 

“You are a brave man, Viktor,” she said. “A prized attendant of Durmstrang.”

He swallowed and looked around. Fleur came towards him, wrapping her arms around him and forcing out a tearful apology for her accusations. 

“No harm,” Viktor said softly, as she stepped back. 

“If we are finished here,” his headmaster said. “I will take Viktor back to Durmstrang. I believe we can all agree that he needs rest.”

They nodded and gave them leave. She helped him out of the room and apparated them back to Durmstrang, leaving him in the mess hall where Petya, aleksandr, Antonio, and Cyrus stormed him to check him over, ask him questions. 

“I am fine,” he assured. “Just… still under truth serum… a little dizzy.”

“You’re probably hungry, come on,” Petya said. “We promise not to ask anything embarrassing.”

“How much of your mail is actually just girl’s underwear?” Antonio asked.

Viktor’s face flamed, “Most of it.”

Petya shoved him, “We all know Antonio has such little shame. Stay with Cyrus we’ll get you food.”

Viktor sat down at their usual section of the table, Cyrus across from him with his usually glowing eyes, a bright hazel made of more gold and emerald than green looking at him. His hair had grown out since they left, probably in spite of multiple attempts to cut it. Curly and dark casting shadows over his amber and sand colored face. 

“Are you alright?” Cyrus asked.

Viktor sighed, gripping the book in his hand, “I will be.”

Cyrus shook his head and Viktor smirked, “You are officially one of us.”

Cyrus looked at him and glowered, “Shut up. I’ll have you know that I’ve left all of your fan mail, on your side of the room.”

Viktor groaned, “I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Cyrus said. “Thought you wouldn’t want to miss a chance to explore what the latest fashions of underwear were. You’d look lovely in blue lace..”

Viktor shoved him and grinned as the troublemakers returned with food and for just a little longer it was honest, brotherly teasing. Antonio asking inappropriate questions knowing that Viktor couldn’t resist for as long as he was under the serum’s effects. 

“Do you love Hermione?”

“Yes.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as they grinned roguishly and Cyrus tapped his watch, “Veritaserum only lasts for about an hour… That one wasn’t forced.”

He glared at them all, pulling out his wand and making the four of them tumble away from the table, laughing even as they were soaked. 

“Hermione Krum,” Aleksandr said. “Has a nice ring doesn’t it?’

“Viktor Granger maybe,” Petya said earning sounds of approval even as Viktor left the hall, most of Durmstrang’s students who’d come with them to Hogwarts laughing. 

“Trouble all of you!” He said throwing up his hands and marching out. He found himself unable to stop smiling, though. While he wasn’t sure he was really up for being in such a good mood, he found no reason at the moment to remain in the sour one he’d been in.

His parents arrive a few days after the meeting with the Ministers to tell him to come home for the summer rather than his grandmother’s. He almost winced at the thought of going to the Krum estate, but he was exceedingly grateful that Hermione had written him to say that she couldn’t come this summer due to  _ obligations _ . He knew that masters usually made their summer training more intense, so he didn’t fault her. 

His grandmother came for dinner, once his parents were gone, with a book.

“I believe we should talk,” she said softly. “Come home this weekend?”

Viktor shook his head, squeezing her tight as if it would stop the fact that his parents wanted him at the estate for the summer. His father would no doubt be harsher than usual if their expressions post their discussion with the new Headmaster of Durmstrang was any indication.

“I do not wish to go,” Viktor said into her shoulder. She smelled like the wind racing over the Black Sea and beyond. She smelled like home. “I do not wish to be around them all summer.”

“I know,” she soothed squeezing him. “I’ll steal you away as much as I can.”

He smiled, “So I can tell you about Hermione?”

“You know me well, little wing.”

He smiled at the familiar nickname. His grandfather had apparently been “wing” because she swore up and down (and sideways sometimes) that Viktor Krum I had been more wing than man… His animagus form had been an eagle from what she’d told him. Her form was as well, she’d been teaching him, coaching him through the meditation practice, but he hadn’t reached it yet. His brothers hadn’t been able to sit still long enough to listen to her, let alone meditate. They insisted that she was too “obtuse” to the pure-blood way of life. She always said that she was older and had lived long enough to be obtuse about anything she chose.

After a long moment of peace, Viktor let her go, promising to come to the Estate as soon as possible come the weekend. When he arrived, she was sitting in their usual meditation courtyard, motioning for him to join her on their floating bench. He climbed on sitting beside her.

“You were put under the Imperius curse weren’t you?”

He swallowed and shook his head. 

“Tell me.”

He stammered through most of it, looking towards the ground in shame as the bench floated in its familiar pattern around the courtyard. The quiet of rushing water in the Black Sea and the wind filling the silence. 

“I had feared as much,” she said with a deep breath. “Tell me, how is it that you know how people are feeling?”

Viktor frowned and looked at her. 

“Is it different than the way that  you know the wind currents?”

“How… did you know that?” Viktor asked looking at her and turning. “Yes, it’s… It’s like a feeling sometimes at the back of my mind.”

She shook her head and look at him, “You inherited… a great deal from him.”

Viktor swallowed, “Why… do you ask?”

“Viktor,” she started. “Your grandfather had the same instincts you do. It’s called magical empathy to some people. It's the mark of a vampyr. Most think they're a myth, but your grandfather was one. He said it started when he was a child when his father had been too hard on him...He learned how to read his father’s moods before ever going near him,”

Viktor swallowed listening to her. The same misty sadness in her eyes, but a happiness there too, talking about her beloved late husband. It had shocked him to hear how very similar his father had been to his great grandfather. 

“I still don’t understand how that happened,” she said. “But this gift… comes with a price...and an advantage.”

Viktor frowned. 

“It makes you more susceptible to Legilmency and the Imperius curse because there’s a part of your mind that is always open. It’s how your empathy works.”

Viktor felt his jaw clench at the thought. He’d hurt people because of this…  _ gift _ ? He would rather lose his ability to fly than--

“Hush,” she said, placing a hand on his. “It’s true that it makes you more susceptible, but it also makes you harder to control.”

He looked at her again as she smiled. “You fought, most people under the curse only feel that strangely weightless feeling. They don’t even remember, but you did Viktor. It’s because of this gift. It’d be one thing if there were just your emotions and thoughts to deal with, but it’s not just yours but everyone around you too.”

“How do I stop it?’ viktor asked. “I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

“You train,” she said. “I… know someone who can teach you. Your grandfather’s friend. He is the best, but it will be hard Viktor.”

“I want to,” he said swallowing, taking her hand. “Please? I can’t. I can’t feel that way again.”

She let out a breath, “Your Hermione Granger?”

He glowered, “How are you saying her name so perfectly? I can only butcher it.”

She laughed, “I have more practice speaking than you, sweet.”

He pouted, his shoulders slumping as she smiled, “I will write him. We have books to help, but it would be best to have a vampyr to show you the way. Perhaps, if we are lucky he will--”

“Mistress!” They turned to see Elena behind them, a little fretful in her tiny winter clothes. “There is sir at the door. Named Romanoff?”

“Let it never be said that he is without perfectly uncanny timing,” she said wryly getting down and getting Viktor to follow her inside. The large man turned and greeted them with a big smile.

“He looks just like the old Wing!” He cried pulling Viktor close and squeezing him. 

Viktor frowned feeling something off, a dark sadness and pain that he couldn’t explain before looking at the man. 

“Sasha Romanoff, I was a friend of your grandfather.”

He shook his head and the man’s hand trying to figure out the feeling he was getting. Sasha leaned over to Eleanora with a knowing smile.

“Rather advanced isn’t he? You should have written.”

Sh scoffed, “I was going to!”

“Well Viktor, what are you feeling?” Ivan asked. 

Viktor regarded the man, licked his lips and said, “You are… cursed? Dying?”

His eyes widened and he looked between Eleanora who looked shocked, staring at Sasha and then back to Viktor.

“A talent like that is wasted in the air, my boy. Come, let’s talk.”

Viktor followed the man down the hall towards the study as his grandmother told them she’d be in her workshop. They sat down across from one another and Viktor got the feeling that he was about to learn a lot more than he bargained for this summer. 

“I can talk to your parents with regards to your training this summer,” he said. “Consider it an apprenticeship. Grandson to my two best friends or not, I will not go easy on you and no matter how tired you are, you must continue on with your public appearance. Do you understand?”

Viktor shook his head.

Sasha smiled, “Then, my boy we’ll have a very interesting summer together, won’t we?”

*

At the last match of the year, he stepped on to their pitch with an odd feeling. He’d written back to Hermione who’d be staying at Hogwarts castle for the summer to tell her that he’d entered an apprenticeship for the summer. What his grandmother told him about this gift he’d inherited....

“I’ve held the score,” Cyrus said. “While you were gone. Ready?”

Viktor nodded and they took off into the sky. He’d be expected at training camp for the Vultures the next day, his apprenticeship taking up his nights off the field. His graduation...His entire future looming in front of him, yet he felt none of that in the air, waiting for the game to begin. They released the bludgers, the Snitch and he looked across the pitch at the other team with an odd detachment. 

There were dark forces at work had he was playing a game…. Hermione was probably studying hard…

_ Easy, Viktor, _ he thought.  _ Enjoy flying for fun before it becomes flying for your life… _

He let out a breath, shook his head free and watched the quaffle fly into the air. A glint of gold out of the corner of his eye and he flew after it, playing his part in the charade.

“Viktor!” He hears behind him as he shot up into the clouds after the Snitch.

He heard someone crash into the wall below him as he reached out and snagged it. The sun was warm on him and for a moment he was only floating above the world. He fell back letting himself freefall before pulling up to float to the ground and regard the Snitch in his hand.

Perhaps… he would send one to her. He nodded. No, not this one. When he won a game that actually mattered to him, perhaps.


	12. The Bonds of Fenrir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She refused to be changed. From the depths of her soul, she would not be a wolf. She would not be corrupted.
> 
> She would not be held down with the bonds of Fenrir.
> 
> But how long could she keep a secret that she didn't even know or understand?

She woke up to the smell of the earth and a pain in her shoulder that she couldn’t explain. Her head feels like it was filled with cotton and lead. It’s dark, cold, and generally uncomfortable.

_ Harry? _ She thought hazily, reaching out. “ _ Harry? _ ”

“He is not here, Pup, you are a long way away from home.”

She groaned turning over and gasping at the cold stone against her bare back. Naked… She was  _ naked! _

She threw her hands out over her chest, curling tightly to just hide in the shadows as the voice chuckled.

“There is no need to be frightened,” he said, stepping closer to her as she pressed herself into the corner. “You are quite safe.”

_ Forest of Dean, _ she thought, fuzzily.  _ Hands and growling, the searing pain her shoulder, her voice screaming— _ Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!

She’d been separated from Harry and Ron… Snatched away after she’d stood behind to make sure they got away safely. Were they looking for her?

She shuddered as the memories resurfaced.  _ They’d touched her _ , clinically medically, without her permission. Squeezing, examining, eyeing her naked flesh with no regards to how she screamed and struggled. Happy to hold her still with threats and pure force.

_ A fighter… _ someone said.  _ She will be a good leader. _

“You must eat, you have been sleeping for quite some time from that bump to the head.”

She swallowed, trying to draw the memory to the surface. She’d gotten free she thought. Gotten just free enough that they’d had to slam her back down to the stone floor, the back of her head hitting the ground hard enough to make her black out…

And now she was still here, still in this damp, dark space with an odd itching beneath her skin.

“You must eat.”

A plate of food at her side that she did not heed.

“I want to go home.”

He growled, “You need to eat. The full moon will be here shortly.”

“You can take your full moon and shove it!” Hermione said, a low growl coming from her mouth.

_ Aggression, irritation, growling... _ it was coming on too fast. The full moon was close. How long had she been seperated from them?

The man glared at her, impressed at the tendencies already manifesting but pissed off at the words, “You will not talk to me like that, _p_ _ up. _ ”

Her arm flew out as he reached for her and all at once he was flying across the cave into the other wall. Others came to see what the sound was about to see Hermione curled up, naked against the wall staring at her hand.

“Alpha will not be happy about this…”

“You do yourself no favors, pup.”

Hermione looked at them, “Your Alpha. I’m  _ human _ .”

They snorted and tapped their shoulders, “Not for much longer.”

“I’d rather die.”

“And you will if you don’t eat.”

“So be it.”

“We are trying to help—“

“Then you would have stopped this madness before I was kidnapped, psychos.”

They growled and turned, “We’ll see how you feel when Alpha is done with you.”

She said nothing shivering in the dark until they were gone. She got up and crossed the room to steal the man’s clothes and wrap them around herself, looking for anything else she could use. A knife, his boots…

Nothing of use.

“I knew you would be special,” a drawling voice came from behind her and she whirled to see the man standing there.

One Fenrir Greyback, Remus’s sire, her shoulder itched, her hands shook and she stood her ground against the feeling of something else taking over. Apparently, he was her would be sire too.  He may have remembered her from his time as an official Snatcher.

“Most are not capable of magic so soon after being bitten… mean’s you’re rather powerful. Tell me, pup, what family are you from? We’ve met before have we not?”

“I’m not a pup.”

She groaned as her shoulder burned.

“You may not think so, but the change has already begun,” he said approaching her to crouch down beside her where she was curled up and panting in pain. She tossed her head, shaking. “And yes… now that I’m looking at you… I knew you were special then…in the forest… with the Weasley and  _ Barney,  _ was it?”

She moved back as he leered at her, a calculating smile, “Strong then too…”

“You will eat, pup,” he said pressing a hand to the back of her neck. She flinched away.

“Don’t touch me!” She yelled, still as another shot of pain assaulted her. She panted for breath, trying to crawl away. Her body was fighting the infection, no doubt because of that series of potions that had nearly killed her. 

If only Severus had told her that it wouldn’t just dispel anything that tried to take over her, but would hurt like hell she may have been better prepared. She couldn’t remember if the potions were made to really fight off lycanthropy, but she had a feeling that she’d find out.

“The more you fight the more it will hurt, you are a smart girl. You know that there is no way out, don’t you? The turn is coming. You are only lucky that the full moon only just passed.”

Hermione choked on the ashen taste in her mouth. She needed to eat, her mind telling her so, her body, these other instincts that were making it so very hard to think. She needed to eat to regain her strength, but that knowledge was twisted with the fact that he was telling her to eat.

“I… would rather die,” she choked out, coughing and curling up against the burning in her chest.

“Than be a werewolf?”

“I didn’t choose this,” she said. “I’ll be damned if I’m sacked with this for some egomaniac’s agenda.”

He growled then, wrapping his hand around her throat and dragging her up. He didn’t squeeze but he didn’t relinquish his hold or his influence on her mind.

“You will not address me as such. I am your Alpha, whether you like it or not and come the next full moon Pup, you will  _ be _ mine… I should get quite a few…  _ bites _ out of you before you stop screaming.”

“Couldn’t find someone your own age? Had to pick up a teenager?” She chuckled darkly. “I don’t think there’s anything in me that could ever submit to someone so pathetic. Besides, aren’t I a bit  _ old  _ for your tastes?”

He growled, moving to hit her maybe, maybe snap her neck, but he reconsidered it. That wasn’t the way to break this one… The others had bent to cruelty, this one had seen enough cruelty to laugh in his face even as her body was more than likely going through the torments of the damned. She was stronger than the others, perhaps more corrupt than the others, yet  _ purer _ in some ways...

This one… would be different, just as he thought from her scent in the forest. 

“Marko, Food!”

She struggled as the werewolf brought a plate of food to him.

“Open your mouth, pup.” She grit her teeth, baring them at him as he repeated it, “Open your mouth.”

Hermione felt it, molar by molar, prying her jaws apart even as she fought it. The smug bastard had the nerve to smirk at her as her mouth opened on its own and her eyes burned.

“See, pup,” he said placing a bit of meat in her mouth, enjoying the way her neck was tense with effort in his hand, a column of steel forced to bend. “Eat.”

Again, he watched it, the creaking of her jaw as she tried to resist before chewing it all. He fed her this way taking an odd pleasure in the way her eyes grew harder as she was forced to eat, but each bite a hard-won battle. Eventually, the plate was empty, with her panting with effort, sweat beading in cool droplets on her forehead.

“Such a beautiful pup, you will make a fine mate.”

In a moment of sick triumph, he let her go, slumping to the ground, exhausted from fighting and stood over her.

“It will only make it harder on yourself if you continue to fight,” he said turning and freezing at the coughing sound she made, turning swiftly to see it. The bit of blood on her lips from hacking so hard and a piece of meat, not fully chewed on the ground as she passed out.

Defiant, he thought. Perhaps she would be more than just a mate to one of his betas… He would have to watch her carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could break her without damaging her completely in the month leading to the full moon.

“She is not allowed clothing,” he said. “She has not earned that privilege yet. We’ll inspect her again every day until the full moon. Find Dia and have her cast the hex.”

Hermione wasn’t conscience when they came in the next time, but, at first touch, she sprung away bursts of power making them fly back as they wrestled her stolen clothing from her. Fenrir was careful to tell them not to hurt her intentionally, but it made no difference when she struggled so hard she bruised, so hard that she sprained or broke something. The way she screamed and thrashed against their hands, the three times a day fight to get her to eat. The hex that showed her her greatest fears like a Boggart that would not be moved with a Riddikulus charm.

Contrary to their thoughts, she never screamed, she never cried and if anything her wandless magic had grown stronger. At times, Fenrir could feel her wand trying to escape his robes to go to her.

But she was growing weaker with her resistance, her body’s changes were already taxing her on top of the fight. She more often passed out before they could even get to feeding her, forcing them to feed her heavy liquids.

“She will not make it, Alpha,” his first beta told him. “She is too weak.”

He let out a breath, thinking for a moment, seeing her on the ground, pale despite the darkness of her skin, trembling with cold and pain, her body spasming. Her injuries had healed in accordance with werewolf healing, but her body temperature had not elevated quite yet. She could very well die and what a waste that would be.

“Bring me the potion,” he said, taking it from his hands and lifting Hermione’s unconscious body up.

As usual, her eyes flew open and she struggled feebly, but he did nothing, but grip her jaw and squeeze, holding her nose closed and pouring the liquid down her throat. She writhed trying to cough it up, but it was too late, she swallowed it all and gasped for air.

The full moon was rising soon, he picked her up then, still shivering out of the den and towards the outside with the others he’d intended to be a part of his pack, so close to the end of the war. There was more than one Death Eater in attendance. He set her down on the ground, still shaking.

“ _ Hermione Granger? _ ” Someone whispered in shock. “ _ What a prize. _ ”

Her head rolled to that psychotic bitch who’d carved those letters into her arm. Letters she could no longer feel. Letters that had healed without a scar while she lay unconscious, now she felt the burning.

“ _ You… _ ” she gasped, turning over, dragging herself forward, a rage she’d never known.

“Oh look the mudblood’s angry,” she cackled. “Perhaps she won’t survive the full moon at all?”

Hermione didn’t hear her, digging her elbows into the ground, dragging her body across it towards her with a singular intent. She was going to kill that bitch. She was going to kill her.

_ Going to kill her… _

_ Going to… _

Fenrir watched it happen, much like he thought it would. She thrashed at the first touch of moonlight, her skin shivering as Bellatrix cackled at her writhing form...

“Think how poor Potty will feel with his best friend on the Dark Lord’s side? A werewolf at that?”

_ No. _

She twisted, sitting up and gritting her teeth against the next shot of pain down her spinal cord. She didn’t want this. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. This wouldn’t be happening if she had anything to say about it. She heard similar sounds beside her, around her maybe as the other who’d been taken began to shift.

She had to get to Harry. Had to… Had to get to Harry, had to get away…

Had to kill Bellatrix—

Had to—

Had to see Viktor again...

_ No _ , she said the low growling in the back of her mind. A brown wolf glaring at her,  wanting to break free.

_ No, _ she told it and the sound of Fenrir’s telling her to eat. Telling her that it wouldn’t be over until she submit.

_ Never _ .

The wolf growled and she glared back at it,  _ No. _

It leapt forward, tackling her down into the tumbling darkness, invading her mind, her magic and demanding to be let in. Demanding her to yield--

_ NO. _

Fenrir watched, his breath held. The others, save one, had transformed completely. The one lay dead to the amusement of the Death Eaters in attendance. The pup he’d picked, singled out among the captured went still. Her skin settling it’s normal rich brown under the moonlight. Her hair a wild mess and she was naked on her knees in the middle of the clearing as light seemed to materialize around her, floating in a swirling mist as she looked up into the moon.

_I yield for nothing!_

“Fenrir! What is happening?”

His brow furrowed as he stepped forward, “Pup.”

Her head snapped to him and he could see her eyes filled with moonlight. The silvery mists flew towards him, knocking him back, her wand and bag from his robes and onto the ground. She held out her hand and watching the wand and bag fly to her.

“Kill the mudblood!”

Bursts of light flew out of wands surrounding her, but she closed her eyes and imagined the Forest of Dean, willing herself there. When she opened her eyes, she was in the middle of the forest, the sight of a camp not too far. She felt her mouth open to call out, but everything went dark before she could figure out exactly what to say around the burning fire in her chest.

*

_ Fear _ , Viktor realized, the bitter taste in his mouth as he guided his broom through the sky, streaking over and away from Sofia. The Dark Mark had been cast high in the sky and with it, the taste of fear had become almost suffocating. 

“ _ Cruciatus _ !”

He barrel rolled out of the way of the hex and heard someone go down before he cast his own hex over his shoulder, willing the winds through throw the off.  He turned to find his comrades all accounted for racing across the night sky.

_ Fear  _ was what made his heart race, pulsing too quickly to breathe, making him fly faster than he should have away from from the city and over the sea. He just had to get there, a little farther and he’d have them right where he wanted them. 

“ _ Don’t be an idiot! We need him alive! _ ”

“Incarcerous!”

Viktor dove down into the high tree line, avoiding the ropes and heard them follow him beneath the brush. 

“We need to slow him down!”

“He’s a bloody  _ Seeker _ for Merlin’s sake. Of course, we need to slow him down.”

He slid aside, keeping his weight anchored to the broom as he turned around, flying backward to hex them with sure swipes of his wand. They fought back, a duel in the air, cursing at him. 

“Fucking crazy bastard!”

“I’ll take them ahead, will you be alright?” Petya yelled after him. 

“I’ll cover you!” Viktor told him casting as shield and smoke screen as Petya took the people they were leading to safety towards the Acropolis Estate in Greece. 

“They’re getting away!”

“Leave them! It’s Krum he wants.”

He narrowed his eyes aiming a burst of light at the nearest Death Eater, firing and firing great shots of light as they flew through the air, avoiding the low branches. 

_ Just a little farther _ , he thought, urging his broom beyond the treeline. 

A searing hot line cut across his shoulder as he flipped his body around but it did nothing to stop him, only spinning him into a corkscrew to shoot out of the treeline and turn to face the group that had been chasing him. 

“You’re out numbered, Krum! Be glad the Dark Lord wants you alive or we would have killed you by now.”

The idiots aren’t paying attention to the swirling water beneath them. 

“Come with us quietly. You can’t outfly us forever.”

“No, but I can kill you.”

“What--”

Viktor raised his wand and committed to this curse. The waters of the Black Sea surged up and grabbed the Death Eaters, tangling them up, forcing its way into their lungs, drowning them before crushing them beneath the surface brooms and all. He watched until the last of them vanished before succumbing to the wave of fear. He was told that this would happen, that the first kill would be the worst. His stomach roiled and he clenched his broomstick tightly trying to get over the nausea. 

Fear, terror, disbelief and an existential crisis all at once--can’t breathe--can’t breathe…

_ Shut it out, Viktor... _ he urged, closing his eyes and breathing.  _ Shut it out.  _

He felt himself getting dizzy, his broom wavering under his nausea. He’d crash… He’d crash if he didn’t get it together. 

_ Focus Viktor,  _ the old man told him as he lay on the cold floor.  _ You have to block it out. Feed on it if you must, but do not let it consume you. _

He didn’t know how to do that, didn’t-- couldn’t…There hadn’t been time to learn to feed off it before the war had come to Bulgaria.

_ I’m going to die. I’m going to die! _

_ You promise? _

He gasped, her voice in his ears, pleading with him, kneeling as she tried to heal him, knowing that she had to go with Harry or he would never succeed in his mission. She had to go. 

_ You promise we’ll see each other again.? _

He’d told her that he would. Promised with every fiber in him that no matter what they would see each other again, that someday they would figure out whatever they were, what they could be. 

He shut his eyes, stilling his broom, “ _ Stop. _ ” 

He said and felt it halt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to tell his broom to stop verbally. 

“Muses,” he said, panting through the visions. “Quick.”

His broom turned, directing itself towards Greece and waited until he was ready before shooting forward in the direction that Petya and the others were headed. The further away from the sea he got, the easier it felt to breathe, the more clearly he could see her in her red dress and her kind smile, the way she still fit in his arms so well…

It’s enough to loosen and break the bonds of fear that had nearly dragged him under with the people who had meant to kill him. When he arrived at the Estate, he can’t feel his legs from shaking, he gets off his broom and lands on his knees in front of the estate.

“Viktor!” Helena, always the first to greet him as she was always the first to know. “Lean on, take it easy.”

He gasped, shaking as she hauled him on to his feet and helped him inside. 

*

She woke up alone, face down in a pile of leaves and disoriented, but not in pain. She wasn’t cold either… if anything she felt good. Hungry, but good, better than she had in all the time that she’d been held prisoner.

She sat up, looking at her wand and swallowing, she stuck her hand in her bag and rummaged around for something to wear finding only her red dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding and a pair of shorts. It was… at the least better than nothing. She slipped them on, slung her bag over her shoulder and walked forward. She glanced around feeling something odd in the air, something that she could quite place she looked up to the trees seeing a bird there, hearing the pulsing of its heart.

_ Oh god _ , she could hear that? She needed to talk to Remus about this, as the only werewolf she knew probably wasn’t out to kill her. More importantly… she hadn’t shifted, she knew that. She remembered every moment of the night, she remembered how she got here...

So that four-part potion may have the key to curing lycanthropy… Cool.

She shuddered, trying to clear her head before casting a disillusionment charm on herself and continuing towards the camp. She waited to see who was inside, hearing two heartbeats. Then movement and she gasped seeing Harry and Ron walk out into the open air.

She undid the disillusionment and leapt down, running as fast as she could and ended up tackling them both to the ground with a solid grunt of air escaping their lungs.

“Hermione?!”

“You’re alright, thank goodness you’re alright. What exactly are you two doing without protective wards up around your camp? Have you lost your minds?!”

Harry laughed squeezing her tightly as she wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of him. Dirty. They were all dirty, but it wasn’t just her hearing that had gotten so much stronger, but everything else too. Something to think about at a later time. Either way, Ron smelled terrible, Harry less so, but all in all she’d been close enough to them, happy to see them before getting up.

“Right, before we get ourselves killed,” she turned to start casting her protective spells around the camp as they stood.

“Where have you been all this time?”

“How did you find us?”

“What  _ happened? _ ”

“It’s not important, where are we on finding the Horcruxes?”

They, as she thought, had not quite figured out anything else beyond where she’d left them: with Hufflepuff’s cup. Once they were secured, and they were all reassured that she was perfectly fine, they set to work trying to figure out where they had to go, what else was left.

“We’ll have to return to Hogwarts.”

Hermione agreed with that, the question was how would they get in undetected?


	13. Marbled Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione kills the only other secret keeper and the war is over.

Her heart beat hard enough to almost hurt and for a moment she was back in that cave. The image of him blood splattered lying before her. His usually warm black eyes staring cold and lifeless at her. The illusion had been heady and still haunted her even now, months after escaping Fenrir and adjusting to the new body she had. Maybe it would haunt her until she had proof that it wasn’t true, but in between running across England for her life and still remaining “Hermione” with the boys, she hadn’t been able to even sneak a message to him across country lines though she heard about the attack on Durmstrang and snippets of the fact that he’d been involved in the battles of the area. Not to mention being something that wasn’t quite right.

The Akropolis sisters had opened their Grecian palace for refugees, raising the defenses against Death Eater Attacks of wizarding kind and forcing a protective barrier over the muggle city nearby to keep something like peace established. She hadn’t seen Viktor’s name among the dead, nor Petya or Aleksandr or Antonio, but she knew that meant next to nothing.

_ Block it out, Mia,  _  she thought creeping through the semi-ruins of Hogwarts. The sound of the battle below around her. 

It had not been a year yet… The feeling of his lips, the pain in his voice, the urgency as he looked at her, pushing her away from him, away from the chaos towards Harry. It was as clear as if it had been just a few moments before.

_ He needs you. We will see each other when over, now go! _

He’d kissed her as if it would be the last time they would see each other and it made her stomach turn to think that would be the case. Their eyes had met steadily, before she drew her hand over his chest. His eyes had fluttered for a moment as she backed away from him, casting a shield charm over him and turning to run to find Harry and embark on the journey to find every Horcrux and destroy them.Her heart twisted, Harry was somewhere fighting for his life, just like she would and had been since long before they’d left Hogwarts. Like that month in the caves or that night… that night--

_ So… brave Mia, _ the sick struggling sound of her grandmother’s last few breaths. Her trembling, cold hands giving her a roll of parchment telling her to leave her… Telling Hermione that there were more coming, to not tell her anything in case she survived long enough to be questioned again.

“Flipendo!” She shouted running and watching the dark cloaked figure go flying, away from a group of students who were struggling to keep him at bay. She ran in and out of disillusionment before running into Ron and stopping. 

“Up there,” Ron said looking at her and turning to take the lead.

_ Why had she done this? _ She asked herself taking the lead up the stairs of Hogwarts after it was clear that the war had truly begun.

She reached the top of the stairs to find Remus and Andromeda casting spells off the battlements, dueling with Death Eaters seeming losing.

“Get back Hermione!” Remus yelled as she brandished her wand, aiming a well placed explosion over the heads of the offending Death Eaters. Rubble collapsed on top of them and Remus turned quizzically.

“How… did you get here so quickly?”

Hermione blinked and looked back down the steps where she’d come. Hadn’t she been beside Ron just a moment ago?

“Uhm…”

She turned, sweeping her wand over her head in a shield charm and a reflecting spell, sending the hex back to where it came from. Remus and Andromeda looked at her then one another. Andromeda’s reflexes were fast, but… not that fast.

“What…”

“Later.”

“Later!” Remus definitely agreed following her across the battlements. “Where’s Harry?”

“With Voldemort I suppose,” she said. “He went running off after they brought him back in.”

“Well I think we all know Harry can take care of himself.”

“Right.”

“ _ Pup, _ ” she whirled hearing the voice and Remus gasped. “Such a strong one… and my wayward son… How lucky… perhaps even a new bitch for the pack.”

Remus stepped forward, but Fenrir was faster, tossing a hex to send him flying that Hermione only barely threw up a shield over them, holding until the hex dissipated.

“Get out of here,” Hermione said.

“What?”

“It’s me he wants, now go!” She said regarding the man.

Memories she hadn’t allowed herself to think of resurfaced as he smiled cold and empty.

“Some alone time with your Alpha?”

She hurled a hex at him and stilled her shaking hands as he fired them back, moving so fast she could barely keep up. She’d known this would happen, that he would be there and threaten to expose too much at once.  This secret she was carrying around and didn’t fully understand along with all the others wouldn’t be safe to examine until he was dead. 

She would have to kill him. 

Gods he was fast, pushing her back with his age and experience, his lack of human hesitation.

“If you are nice, I may only punish you lightly.” He said as she hit the ground, digging her elbows into the stone floor as her leg bled. He snarled, grabbing her bleeding leg so she turned around.

“Lupus Morsus!”

He lifted his wand to block it, but the sound of the wind came almost too quickly, slicing through his arm and causing him to shriek in pain. He growled, growing more monstrous in form as he bled and she scrambled to her feet and around the corner.

“You will regret that  _ pup! _ ” He roared.

“Tenebris Lunam!” He cried out, roaring at the blinding dark over his eyes as she dove aside from the swipe of his arm, her leg healing quickly, but not fast enough. She had enough time to draw a line of healing runes around her calf over the bloody material of her jeans before rolling again.

He roared, dropping his wand, and charged at her consumed in his rage at being defied, at her for escaping...at the pain.

“Lupus morsus!” she called, watching another strip of flesh vanish as he swiped at her.

“Sectummalum sempralux!” She said just as he neared her, waving her wand furiously and watching the gashes of pure burning light through his hairy, monstrous skin. He howled in agony as she drove power and will through her wand, slashing until he lay still, gurgling and unconscious, bleeding out on the floor. She regarded him, limping away until his last breath left him. She heard a group of howls in the night air and feet on the ground before running, foregoing the sturdiness of her leg and rushing down the stairs. The cackle of Bellatrix from the left and Molly’s voice.

_ Not my daughter you bitch! _

She watched a flash of green light for a moment before moving out of the way. There had been so much flashing green light that night, so much of her own screaming of curses, but she wouldn’t let them go painless and silent into a good night. 

_ Kill… Kill… Kill them all.. _

How torn must her soul be now? Sure it had not been the Killing Curse, but she’d taken their lives just the same.

She heard the funeral music, the sound of the commercial that her parents had been watching as she erased her from their minds as she was thrown off her feet and rolled back to her feet, skidding to a stop, listening and probing the area with a gentle mental sweep. Her hands gripped her wand, ready when she heard the sweeping of a wand through the air and turned, casting a spell in the direction of the noise. The wall exploded back and all of a sudden she was surrounded, snickering angry faces, ashes falling through the air as she trailed her wand over her leg, careful to ease the spell slowly and recede back to where only her logic ran wild. She couldn’t afford to stun them… She would have to kill them all. 

How many would this make she wondered…faces flashed of shock blurry from tears and rage, she couldn’t even hear their dying sounds as she fought. The sound of breaking and falling stone, the blasting of energy through the air as she moved through the shadows of the battle. So much blood she'd spilled everywhere in the little cottage,heads rolled...

_ Does it matter?  _  a part of her asked. _ They were Death Eaters… _

_ Fifty two,  _ another part of her replied as the faces flashed in her head. The first being the one that stuck so plainly. Like the first torturing curse she’d cast after having been under so many.

_ Fifty-two humans…  _ but they’d killed her grandmother, tortured her...

_ Fifty-two lives _ she’d ended and she hadn’t even turned twenty yet.

But it was either her or them and she’d lost enough with Severus, her grandmother, her parents, her biology perhaps, the truth exposed… well most of the truth anyway…

It would be them.

It would be them. 

It would be them from then on because she wouldn’t lose anything else to them 

For a moment, she saw her grandmother. Blood, sticky and wet on her forehead, hair frazzled, so weak and desperate looking up at the Death Eater torturing her, then to Hermione telling her to be strong and to run before more came. That one had just been a scout...the way she seemed to let go even as Hermione healed her.

“Sectumsempra!” She yelled casting the first down the middle, slicing someone in half and backing up to deflect other spells and shield herself with quick swipes of her wand arm, though it was not the wand she’d grown to love, it would do. She couldn’t use that wand to do what needed to be done, couldn’t have the spell registry read such advanced spells. 

Severus would have been proud.

“Oh look it’s the mudblood,” one of them chuckled. “Looks like she’s getting serious.”

“Thinks she can take us because she cast one little curse?”

She licked her lips and spun, disarming one of them and summoning their wand to her other hand, casting killing curses in a flurry of green light until they all lay dead and she stood, panting. She searched them for their wands, trying to find one more similar to her own. In the end, she took them all, just in case, shoving them in her expanded pockets and continuing on. There was no time for thought, no time for regret.

Fifty-three…She couldn’t feel the blood growing stickier on her hands.

Fifty-four…Thicker between her shoulder blades.

Fifty-five… Sliding over her shoulders like macabre cape.

“Hermione!”

She blocked the spell and hurled the curse at the Death Eater before hurrying on. 

Fifty-six…bubbling up around her feet, soaking her shoes.

_ Sectumsempra! _

The blast sent them flying, mangled bodies.

Sixty-one...wetting the band of her bra and rising higher.

_ Block it out, Mia. _

Severus’s face flashed at the slick turn around the corner sliding around into another burst of spells blocking the oncoming ones and moving out of the way. There were so many and so many more coming though they knew Harry was still alive. Some of them ran away, she knew the Malfoys had gone running as soon as Draco had come out of the school.

At every spell, whether she was rolling through the air or across the ground, she made sure every strike was a mortal one and strengthened her shielding charms every chance she got. Until she forced herself to her feet and stepped towards the center of the battle. Ron turned to her as she came towards him.

“We have to kill the snake,” Ron said looking at her, shaking though she seemed unbothered, empty. The familiar cold of logic and complete emptiness--the rudiments of Occlumency. “I don’t know where the sword is.”

“It’s with Neville…”

The hissing came and she shoved Ron aside feeling the snake latch onto her arm until she blasted it off and pressed a hand to the wound and continued to blast it back and further back as the blood dripping from her wand, rising in her mind to drown her in its sticky thickness, seemed to take true form, coming out of her arm, making her hand sticky with it even as she pressed against it trying to slow her heart down.

“Hermione--”

“Run!” She said, turning as Nagini hissed and came after them, “Towards the great hall.”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Shut up and run!” She yelled, turning to fire hex and curse behind her. They each broke over the snake’s head, sometimes impeding its progress before she turned, seeing Neville staggering quickly towards them, dragging the sword with him. The spell protecting Nagini may deflect spells, but she doubted it deflected goblin metal.

“Come on,”  Hermione said walking backwards, blasting at the snake, holding the wound as it bled and whispering healing spells that burned and broke apart against the venom. 

She’d been injected it seemed and Nagini seemed keen to do more. She focused, whispered a blood replenishing spell while firing, separating herself completely from the pain and waves of dizziness as she continued to bleed and the blood continued to multiply. Why Severus had not applied this spell in the last moments, she wasn’t sure… he’d been the one to teach it to her and tell her about Nagini’s venom. As Neville swung the sword and Nagini fell headless, dead on the ground, it hardly mattered. 

Black smoke exploded into the air lashing out, twisting with light and dissipating in the air. Hermione stood, rushing past Ron, cutting down those that stood in her way with a ruthlessness and precision that amazed Ron. He got up chasing after her as she cast silent spell after spell, killing and blasting alike before arriving outside. 

The green and red streams of light met and rebounded towards Voldemort. She stopped running watching the body stagger, Harry standing stock still, tension riding him. Voldemort stumbled and fell forward, face down in the dust.

It was over. 

She turned hearing the silence echo through the courtyard, lifting her wand for the foul figure rising up behind Ron looking to kill him. She blasted Ron aside and sent her own curse hurtling towards the dark shroud.

The blast of green light met the other’s curse and held, a challenge of who wanted the other dead more. Beams fighting for the upper hand.

“Just go join your sniveling family,  _ mudblood bitch. _ ”

She felt it roaring out of her, the pulse of green exploding from the end of her wand, a great fire to engulf him like floo powder swarming him and she felt a deep satisfaction as he screamed and burned alive, too quick for her tastes, but painful enough to make her feel a lot better in the heart of a dragon fire spell she didn't even know.

“Hermione…”

She let out a deep breath and stood up before looking at Ron who stared confused, awed and a little lost up at her. 

She walked forward, stepping over the rubble to get to Harry as he seemed frozen in place with shock of what had just happened. 

Years of danger and terror dissolved in a moment. She lowered the wand in her hand and let out a breath.

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends the pre-quel to the Brightest Witch of Her Age Series and Gone Before It Happens. Comments are always appreciated and I'm sorry about all the grammar mistakes. I'm only human with no beta. :)


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